


Something Just Like This

by akajb



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Accidents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akajb/pseuds/akajb
Summary: Claire wasn't looking for a relationship and neither was Owen. After an accidental one-night stand, his suggestion they repeat it had seemed like a good idea — and it was, until it wasn't.Updates Thursday evenings.
Relationships: Claire Dearing & Owen Grady, Claire Dearing/Owen Grady
Comments: 72
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Massive kudos and thanks to Nadin and Elise for beta-reading and editing this story.

**Chapter 1**

As his lips brushed against hers, ever so lightly, she could feel the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She tried to fight them back, wanting to savour the moment, knowing it would be their last.

"Hey," his voice was soft as he pulled back slightly, his hand creeping forward to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had escaped. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She couldn't meet his eyes as she said it, and not wanting to get into a discussion about it, not now, she moved closer. He didn't fight her when she kissed him, instead following her lead, letting her deepen it as his hand slid back into her hair, holding her close.

Later, when he held her to him as he snored softly, she wondered if he'd been able to feel what was coming. If that night had felt any different to him, the way it had for her. She thought maybe it had, or maybe he'd just been more in tune with her mood. His movements had been less hurried, the pace slower. It had almost felt loving, like he was trying to express feelings he couldn't put into words. Except she knew that wasn't the case.

He'd been very clear when they had started this, whatever _this_ was, that he didn't want a relationship. And that he wasn't looking for anything serious. It was something she'd been in complete agreement with, at the time. She was still sort of bewildered over how they had ended up where they were today.

Shifting carefully in his arms, she turned just enough so that she could see his face in the pale moonlight that was sliding in through the gap in the curtains. He always looked so peaceful and relaxed when he slept. The one place where the worries of the day seemed unable to follow, and where whatever mask he'd felt the need to wear finally fell away.

Claire hadn't been sure what to make of Owen, the first time they'd met. It was in a large meeting, where everyone involved in the IBRIS project, along with the upper management from Jurassic World had gathered together to sort out the final details and assign roles and responsibilities.

She could no longer recall what was said that day, but she just remembered being surprised when Owen had countered something Hoskins had said, instead siding with Jurassic World on an issue. There weren't a lot of people who were willing to stand up to their boss (especially when so new to their job), and there were even fewer who managed to get away with it. The fact that Hoskins had given in, and that Owen had continued to assert his opinions confidently and without holding back throughout the rest of the meeting had intrigued her. She had wondered what it was about Owen that made Hoskins actually listen. And she'd also wondered if he could teach her his tricks.

Outside of that meeting, and the odd report that crossed her desk, Claire had very little interaction with most of the IBRIS crew. Unfortunately, the one person that wasn't extended to was Hoskins — much to her dismay, she had to frequently work with him when dealing with park security issues. But, she'd rarely crossed paths with Owen. She knew (of course) when the raptors had hatched. And she had even seen them, briefly, while they'd been in the nursery that was attached to the lab. Since then, occasionally she'd get glimpses of the raptor paddock when she was down in Control, but that was rare. So, as quickly as Owen had sparked her curiosity, he'd also slipped from her mind, as her work kept her busy, which was just the way she liked it.

And then, well, then one (fateful?) day, she'd ended up in one of the pubs after work. It had been a tough day. Worse than tough, really. Just one of those days where her choices seemed to be to either crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head or to drown her sorrows in the bottom of a glass. And while she wasn't normally a big drinker, that day as she'd walked through the park intent on just going home, she'd found herself detouring into a pub, finding a seat half-hidden at the bar, and slumping down.

What happened next was still blurry. She vaguely remembered noticing that Owen was there. And she _knew_ that she had a lot to drink.

What she _did_ remember clearly, was waking up the following morning to find herself _not_ in her own bed, and _not_ alone. After she had gotten over the shock of discovering that she was also _naked_ , she'd tentatively turned her head, both curious and anxious to find out where she was and who she was with. Claire hadn't been sure what to think when she'd discovered Owen lying next to her. Although, in all honesty, it had been hard to think clearly when she was also suffering from the worst hangover of her entire life.

In hindsight, what still surprised her most about that morning, was that she hadn't felt an immediate urge to leap out of the bed and sprint out of his trailer. Well, she hadn't felt that urge until his alarm had gone off and he'd groaned, before reaching out blindly to shut it off, only for his hand to land squarely on her chest. She'd seen it coming (even if she'd been unable to dodge it) and so had been less surprised than he had, his eyes flying open as his head had snapped towards her.

They'd looked at each other for a long moment, and then Owen had lifted his hand off her chest and up to his face, rubbing at his eyes before he'd looked at her again, squinting and asking, "Are you really here?"

She hadn't been sure how to respond to that. Did he normally…? "Do you–" She cut herself off, not really sure what the right word to use was. Did he think he was still asleep?

"What?" He'd looked at her blankly, not following her train of thought.

Instead of answering, she'd pulled at the sheet and had carefully sat up in bed, finally taking the time to look around his place. The bed took up nearly all of the trailer, and she had been a little embarrassed when she'd discovered that her bra was hanging off the edge of an open cupboard door.

When she'd pulled at the sheet more firmly so she could wrap it around herself, intent on getting up, Owen had reflexively grabbed for it, trying to stay covered himself, and the resulting short tug of war / fight for control had helped lessen the awkwardness that had been starting to rise as neither had said anything more.

Then, while Claire had hunted down her clothes (Owen had simply pulled on boxers and a tee), he'd filled two glasses with water and pulled out some Advil. He'd offered her a couple of pills saying " _If you feel even half as bad as I do right now…_ " She'd swallowed the pills and downed the entire glass of water, watching as he did the same, before he'd turned his attention to the coffee maker.

They'd had a short, stilted conversation about the previous night, both wondering what the other could recall (pretty much nothing) and then both chuckling a bit awkwardly over it all. (She still wasn't sure if he'd felt the same, but she'd personally been a bit relieved to know that they _both_ couldn't remember much of anything.) After drinking half a cup of coffee, she'd finally felt awake and together enough to drive home, only to have been met by his empty lot when she'd opened the trailer door.

Considering she hadn't been able to remember much about the previous night, it was probably a good thing she hadn't driven. Except, it had meant she didn't have any means to get back home. Owen's motorcycle, however, _was_ there, which had briefly worried her that they had rode _that_ back, but he'd told her that he'd actually caught a ride into the park with Barry. While it was reassuring to know they hadn't driven it, it had left them both with the unanswered question of how the hell they had got back to his lot. And it had left Claire hoping that Barry hadn't driven them. She had almost asked Owen if he thought that Barry would be discreet, worried that if Barry _had_ driven them home, that she was in for a week of being the target of the island gossip.

It was a thought she'd normally obsess over, but at that point, Claire had just really wanted to get home. She had wanted to take a shower. To change clothes. And to have a chance to think over everything without Owen standing awkwardly beside her.

He'd driven her back to her place (well, she'd actually convinced him to drop her off a ways away so no one would _see_ him doing so). Clamouring off the motorcycle, she hadn't been sure what to say to him, and then had been caught off guard by his casual: "So, we should do this again sometime." Claire had gaped at him for a long moment, before she had realized that _he_ 'd appeared equally caught off guard by his own words and he'd winced, before saying, "Sorry, force of habit."

Which, really, had just made it all worse.

It had been over a month before their paths had crossed again. This time, instead of in a pub, it had been in the elevator. Claire had been running late and had been repeatedly hitting the close doors button, willing the elevator to _hurry up_. And then, when it had finally started to comply, an arm had shot between the almost closed doors, causing them to spring back open and Owen had stepped inside.

She'd snapped at him, only to have him immediately snap back, which had briefly set her off-balance, as she wasn't used to people at work not just agreeing to what she said (or meekly backing down). They'd bickered the entire ride up, him reminding her that it was a public space and he had just as much right to use it as she did, and her telling him that when the doors were almost closed it was just _polite_ to wait for the next one.

When she'd reached her floor and the doors had finally opened and she'd been able to escape, she had thought that would be the end of it. Except he'd followed her out of the elevator, and down the hall. She'd made it all the way to the door of the conference room she was aiming for, when she realized he was still following her (neither of them had stopped arguing the whole time). Stopping with her hand on the door knob, she'd turned to him and finally asked _why_ he was following her only for him to reach out, placing his hand over hers so he could also grab the handle, and pulling the door open. Then, with a sarcastic "ladies first," he'd waved her into the room ahead of him.

Claire usually prided herself on being more than prepared for every meeting and event on her calendar, but somehow she had been unaware that _that_ meeting was going to include him. It had been about an update around some new security measures that Hoskins wanted to implement out at the raptor paddock and that Owen was against. She still wasn't sure how _she_ had been dragged into it, but she had. By the time it was over, she had been feeling even more drained than she had before, and had _not_ been in the mood when Owen had once again trailed after her, following her through the network of hallways and into her office, even though she'd tried (childishly) to shut the door in his face.

As Owen had pushed into her office after her, Claire had raised her hand, pointing a finger at him about to tell him off, again. But, before she could say anything he had crowded into her space, his hands sliding into her hair as he tilted her face up and lowered his. She had known the kiss was coming, even if she had barely half a second to prepare, and though she had known she should pull back — who did he think he was, kissing her _at work_ and out of nowhere? — she hadn't. Instead, she had kissed him back, her lips parting as his tongue sought entrance.

She had felt the adrenaline that had coursed through her during their early fighting surge, and the kiss had felt like an extension of their argument, each trying to dominate the other, but equally matched. Claire had raised one of her hands to rest on the back of his neck, her fingers playing with his hair, while her other had gripped at his shoulder, pulling him even closer. His own hands had also been on the move, one tangling in her hair, while the other had drifted down her back, his fingers causing a tingle to run down her spine as he traced it lightly, before his hand had settled low on her butt. He had tugged her towards him, and Claire had shifted, letting one of his legs slide between hers, grinding up against him, causing him to growl low in his throat, the hum reverberating into her.

It had been the groan that had finally shocked Claire back into the present, and gasping, she had tried to pull back, her hand on his shoulder now pushing against him, instead of pulling. It had taken a moment before he seemed to clue in, his mouth having chased after hers initially. But then, he too had been panting, his forehead resting against hers, his hand in her hair sliding down to grip her hip, as if afraid she was going to pull away.

As Claire had regained her senses, she had suddenly tensed, her eyes had darted frantically towards her door before she'd relaxed, marginally, relieved to see that Owen had at least had had the foresight to close it behind him. She'd never told Zara anything about that night. And since Zara had also never said anything, Claire had been pretty sure (and thankful) that it had never made it into the gossip chain. But, the last thing she had wanted was for Zara to walk into her office right then. How would she have ever explained that? Especially when _she_ hadn't really understood what was going on.

"Um." Claire had tried to find a way to ask all the questions that were careening through her, but her mind blanked, the words not forthcoming. "What–?" She had closed her eyes and had taken a deep breath, trying to steady herself and her thoughts. It had been made more difficult with Owen's proximity, but she had found herself reluctant to pull away. Opening her eyes, she had focused on him. He had been staring back at her, his expression a little weary, like he wasn't sure what she was about to do. Which was fair, she had thought, since she didn't even know herself what she was about to do. "What was that?" she had finally managed to get out.

"Do you wanna get together later?"

She hadn't been sure what to make of his non-answer, her mind still reeling, her lips tingling. She'd opened her mouth to say no. To ask who he thought he was, asking her _that_. And just who did he think _she_ was. She wasn't the type of person who just slept around. She rarely (Zara would say never) dated. Instead, what she had said was that she wasn't looking for a relationship. To which he'd immediately jumped on, nodding his head eagerly and saying that he wasn't either. He didn't have time for a relationship, he'd informed her. He was busy, just like he knew she was.

Claire had asked him why he didn't just go back to the bar, that he could probably, easily, find someone willing. And he'd just shrugged, before nodding and simply agreeing that he _could_ do that, it was just that, well, that was extra work. He'd thought that this would be simpler. And, that while he couldn't remember everything about that night, what he did remember was that it was good, more than good, really. His hand had tightened on her hip briefly, his eyes darting away before he looked back at her, giving a loose one-shoulder shrug, before saying, nonchalantly, that she seemed to have enjoyed the kiss.

She'd almost pulled back at that, but she knew she couldn't deny it. She _had_ enjoyed it. And not only that, but she had realized that she was still pressed up against him, her one hand still resting on the back of his neck and his leg was still in between hers, his arousal evident against her and it just made her own need (and want) ratchet up higher. As much as she'd pushed him away earlier, she hadn't let him get far. She had felt his warm breath mingling with hers, as he'd waited for an answer. And she could still remember the feel of his hand, resting on her butt.

She'd been surprised when she'd realized that she didn't want to say no. She still wasn't sure what had given her the courage, and what had come over her, her actions feeling so out of character, but she'd used her hand on his neck to pull him back to her as she kissed him. She'd felt his surprise, but he hadn't protested, eagerly accepting what she gave. She kept it short, the moment he started to fully respond, she'd pulled back, gave him a final quick peck, and then pulled away fully, turning and heading for her desk.

As she'd sat down, she'd looked up to see him standing where she'd left him, his gaze trained on her expectantly.

She'd quirked a brow and just said, "How's eight?"

He'd gaped at her for a moment, doing an impressive job of resembling a fish, before he seemed to find himself again. He'd given a short nod, and then turned to leave. His hand had been on the doorknob, when he'd paused, looking back at her and saying with a large grin, "I think I'll skip my beer tonight — don't want to forget anything this time."

Even to this day, Claire still couldn't really believe that she'd agreed. But she had. And that was over six months ago.

It hadn't been very frequent, at first. In the end, it hadn't even been _that_ _night_ , even though they both probably could've used it, as work had intervened and Claire had been unable to get away. (They'd met up a few days later.) But _that_ night had led to another, and then another. It had been very sporadic at the start. A night here, and then the next three weeks to a month later. Overtime, it slowly moved to being every couple of weeks, until the past month, when Claire had realized they were not only seeing each other weekly, but multiple _times_ a week.

On the one hand, she had to admit that there were benefits to the arrangement. She really had been a lot more relaxed recently. But then Zara had asked her the other week if something had changed, if Claire had a secret boyfriend or something that Zara didn't know about. Zara had laughed as she'd said it, not really thinking it was a possibility, but it had frozen Claire in her spot.

From the very start, Owen had been clear that he didn't want to date; that he wasn't looking for a relationship. And she'd been equally in agreement. But Zara's comment had had Claire reflecting on the changes of their _arrangement_. It had been easy enough to believe that they weren't in a relationship when they had got together so sporadically and infrequently and their time together had been more physical than anything else.

However, even though they were spending a lot more time together now, as she'd thought over the past few months, it still didn't really feel like a relationship. The thing was, when they were together, even with the more frequent meetups, they never talked about anything personal. She didn't know anything about his family — not even something as simple as if he had siblings!

That was not to say they didn't talk. They did. But it was all focused on work and what was currently stressing them out. Or, on the better days, they'd share gossip about the park, which was always interesting, since their "networks" didn't overlap much. But she still didn't know what had brought him to IBRIS or what he'd done before (although she had seen a picture of him in some sort of uniform, so she knew his background was something related to the military).

The more time she had spent thinking about their arrangement, the more confused she'd become over what they were doing. It wasn't a relationship, at least not in a more traditional sense. Not just the lack of personal information, but they also never just hung out unless sex was part of the equation. And even though they'd had their arrangement for going on half a year now, she almost never stayed the night. By unspoken agreement, no one but the two of them knew anything about what they were doing (not that she'd expected him to tell anyone about it, but no one even knew that they were now… friends?). They'd never had dinner together (although they had, on occasion, gulped down coffee and toast in the morning when she'd end up staying over) and they'd never watched TV.

From the start, the arrangement had always felt a bit lopsided to Claire. The first few "invites" had all been initiated by Owen, and their interactions had all been out at his lot. And then, one night when he'd messaged, she'd known she needed to turn him down. She didn't have time to go out to his lot, not with the business dinner she had scheduled that night and the early meeting the following morning. However, she hadn't wanted to say no, and she'd found herself asking if he could come to her place. She had waited, tensely, for his reply, certain that he was going to say no, and then surprised when he'd simply replied sure, before asking what unit was hers.

His reaction, and the fact that that night things had been relaxed and comfortable — he hadn't made snide comments about her place or overstayed his welcome — had made her finally relax. And, the next time they'd met up, it was because she'd reached out. However, even though he'd been to her place a few times now, they still usually met up at his lot. It was private and away from other employees (which, Claire was pretty sure was more _her_ concern than his), and it was also closer to the raptor paddock, which she knew he didn't like to stray too far from.

But even though they weren't dating, and even though their interactions were completely centered around sleeping together and "stress relief," as Claire had thought back over the past few months, she'd started to realize that it wasn't just the sex that was the reason why she was so much more relaxed (although, yeah, it helped).

Until now — until this arrangement with Owen — Claire had realized that she'd never had someone that she could share her work burden with. Someone that she could vent to about what was going on, who would nod understandably and not just tell her to suck it up or brush it aside. Someone who actually listened and occasionally offered good advice (something she definitely _hadn't_ expected), but even more so, someone who was just _there._

Claire couldn't share all of her thoughts about work with Zara, and not just because some of them were _about_ Zara, but because Claire was her boss and it wasn't appropriate. Claire also couldn't share them all with Karen, and not just because a lot of her work was confidential, but because Karen had never been able to grasp why Claire wanted to work there in the first place and why she continued to stay. And while Claire still maintained the odd friendship with a few people she had gone to school with, she wasn't close with any of them. Not to the degree she craved.

While there were parts of her work she couldn't share with Owen either, he knew enough about the park and what happened there that he could get a pretty good idea of what she meant, without her having to actually break any confidentiality agreements. She'd been surprised (and then sort of embarrassed over her surprise) at just how smart he was. She probably should've expected it — after all, he'd had to build his entire training program for the raptors from the ground up, as he was doing something no one else ever had before.

She liked to think that they were friends now, because it felt a little better when she thought of everything that was happening if he was her friend. The whole arrangement felt a lot more weird if she thought of him as simply someone she worked and occasionally slept with. Except, if they really were friends, they'd talk about more than work, right?

Then, the other day, as she'd been going about her day, Zara had caught her off guard when she'd asked her if she was busy that evening. Zara had just been trying to sort out if she could schedule an important last minute business dinner. What had surprised Claire in the moment, was how her thoughts had immediately gone to Owen. She hadn't been sure how to deal with the realization that when she thought of her plans for her day now, that she automatically included Owen as part of them.

She'd scheduled the business dinner.

She'd been tempted not to, but she didn't have plans with Owen (they never planned their meetups more than a few hours in advance). But, even if she had had plans, work needed to come first. And then, after dinner that night, when she'd gone back to her place and had been in bed trying to fall asleep, she'd lay there berating herself over the fact that she'd hesitated, even briefly, over taking the meeting. It had been important. She had needed to be there. The type of meeting that you rearrange _other_ plans around so that you make sure you can attend, not the type that you cancel so you can meet up with your "friend" so you can get laid.

That night, as she'd finally drifted off, she'd made a decision. It was time to end things. Sure, it had been good while it lasted, but if she was going to continue to climb the corporate ladder, she needed to stay focused on her job. And that day, she knew their arrangement had moved from being helpful, to finally being something that was going to cause problems.

The next day, she'd debated if she should just send him a text and end it that way. She'd even written the text and had been ready to hit send before she'd pulled back. Claire had felt like he deserved more than a simple text message. She had told herself she'd just tell him, the next time he reached out. She'd fired people before, surely ending something as simple as this should be easy, right?

And then today, when he'd sent a text a few hours earlier, asking if she was free tonight, she'd immediately responded yes, ready and willing to get it over with. But when she'd pulled up to his lot and as she'd climbed out of her car and watched him step out of his trailer, a beer in his hand and an easy smile on his face, she'd lost her nerve.

She'd told herself, when he'd greeted her, that there was nothing wrong with having one last night. That she'd tell him when it was over. That he'd understand. After all, they'd agreed that neither wanted more, and so it wasn't like she was breaking up with him.

Claire hadn't expected her tears. She hadn't expected to become so emotional when he kissed her, or for him to so tenderly wipe them away.

Looking at him now, his face relaxed, his expression peaceful, she realized that she couldn't do it. She couldn't wake him up and tell him. She didn't think she could make it through the conversation without bursting into tears. Claire didn't like to think of herself as an emotional person. Her tight rein on her control was usually enough to prevent her emotions from ever getting the upper hand. But, knowing that she wouldn't have this again, that this had been the last time… it was too much.

Pulling back, she slipped out of his grasp, watching with a soft smile as he mumbled something in his sleep once she was free, his arms reaching for her, before he shifted, sliding into the warm spot she'd left behind, an arm encircling the pillow she'd been using moments earlier. She stood there, longer than she meant to, watching him, committing the image to memory, before she managed to turn away, getting dressed hurriedly, before stepping out of the trailer and driving off.

x-o-x

Almost two weeks went by before she heard from him. As she'd waited, she'd wondered if he was waiting for her to make a move, having sensed something off that last night. Still, she couldn't bring herself to text or call him. She knew what she needed to do, but if he didn't reach out and neither did she, well, then they wouldn't meet up, and wouldn't she have successfully extracted herself without having to actually have a conversation about it?

She should've known it wouldn't be that easy. That Owen wouldn't be the type to just let it fade away. After all, even though they had been, more or less, equally being the one to initiate their get-togethers, it had been him who had started it all, and him who had done most of the early asking.

However, what _did_ surprise her, was that when she finally did hear from him, it was because he showed up at her work and not via a phone call or text message.

She was sitting at her desk replying to an email when the hesitant knock on her half-open door made her look up, and there he was, standing with his hand still raised. He let it fall to his side when he saw he had her attention.

"Can I–?" he asked, and she nodded, a frown on her face unsure what to make of his appearance. A frown that got deeper, when he closed the door behind him, before walking over and sitting down in the chair across from her.

Maybe it was fitting, she thought as she watched him, that the second time he'd come to her office would bookend the start and end of their… whatever it was. Of course, it _could_ be that he was there about something else, except there was something about the way he held himself that made her pretty sure it wasn't business-related. And the fact that he wasn't acting like his normal confident self was setting her off-balance.

"What's up?" she asked, when he didn't say anything, his gaze darting about her office, seeming unable to stay still on anything for too long.

"I haven't heard from you lately," he said, his gaze finally settling on her. He gave a half-shrug. "I just… Are we okay?"

"I've been busy," Claire replied, relying on her default reason for everything. And although she didn't normally think of it as an excuse, as it _was_ true, she knew in this case she was using it as a cop-out.

He just raised a single eyebrow, before sinking back in the chair, his shoulders slumping. "Did I do something to upset you?"

His question surprised her. "What do you mean?"

"You snuck out," he said. "Normally you say something before you leave. And last time… nothing. And then, well, silence."

"You could have called too, you know," she threw back at him, although she knew it was a dumb argument. She _knew_ he'd been waiting for her. She let out a sigh, pushing away the keyboard in front of her and leaning back in her chair, mirroring his pose. "Sorry. I really _have_ been busy," she started. "But, I just… I don't know. I guess I've been thinking over it all and it just…" She wasn't sure how to phrase it. How do you break up with someone you're not dating?

"You want to end it," Owen said, finally connecting all the dots she was struggling to say. He sat up straighter, looking at her intently now, waiting for her to confirm or deny his assumption.

She couldn't tell what he was hoping she'd do. Which, really, just seemed to confirm that what they'd been doing really wasn't anything serious or of any great importance to him. He was still watching her, and so she gave a quick nod, unable to voice the words.

"Oh." For a split second he looked surprised, but it happened so fast, she wasn't sure she'd read it correctly. "Okay. Sure, we can do that."

The room went blurry for a second, and she blinked, trying to clear her vision and feeling unable to process just how _easy_ this was seeming to be. When she managed to refocus, she realized that Owen had already gotten up and was halfway across her office, reaching for the door.

She wanted to say something. To stop him. To tell him that she didn't mean it. But the words were stuck in her throat. Instead, she just watched as he opened the door and strode out, never looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Claire. She's good at standing up for herself at work, but not so great when it comes to relationships. This chapter is mainly set up of their backstory. The main story starts in the next one. Only 5 chapters total this time (I know, short). See you next week. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

As she drove along the muddy road, her car bouncing over the uneven ground, Claire squinted, trying to see through the rain that had started pouring a couple of hours earlier and hadn't let up since. Even though it was early afternoon, the dark clouds that had rolled in made it feel like it was late and she had her lights on. She turned the wipers up to a higher setting before doing the same with the fans as the temperature dropped and her windshield started to fog up.

Claire already had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, but as the wheels got caught in another pothole, tugging the car to the left, her grip tightened even further. While the backroads through the park weren't always in the best shape, the rain had turned them into rivers of mud, and the normally avoidable potholes were now indistinguishable from the rest of the road.

Rain wasn't unusual on Nublar — in fact, it was often a daily occurrence — but Claire had never become comfortable driving in it when the bigger storms rolled through. And while the current storm wasn't technically classified as a hurricane, that was only because the wind speeds hadn't quite crossed whatever threshold they needed. Still, what Claire was mostly annoyed by, was that she'd had to go out today, of all days, to deal with another emergency at Paddock 11. Thankfully, it hadn't involved any employee injuries, but that was the only upside of the visit.

Everyone who worked at the paddock was getting more and more antsy about working around the Indominus, and Claire found that their unease was rubbing off on her. She knew the benefits of the project, but some days they were hard to remember under the hassle of dealing with all the issues that kept arising.

Of course, today's visit had been made worse because of the storm. The storm that had started hours earlier than predicted, catching her off guard. Claire had planned to be safely back in her office or, even better, down in the control room by the time it started. But, best laid plans and all that.

Rounding a bend in the road, Claire slammed on her breaks, even though she wasn't going all that fast. There was something large and black lying on the ground ahead of her. Squinting again, she tried to figure out what it was. It didn't look like an animal and it wasn't moving (thankfully). She reached out and used the sleeve of her jacket to wipe away more of the condensation on the windshield. Finally identifying the object, she tilted her head in confusion — why would what appeared to be a motorcycle be lying in the middle of the road?

Putting her car in park — and wishing _again_ that she'd had the forethought to throw in her rain jacket earlier (or at least an umbrella) — Claire opened the door and gingerly stepped out, her heels immediately sinking into the mud. She sighed. Of course this _had_ to happen on the day she wore her favourite shoes.

Gritting her teeth against the cold rain that immediately soaked her thin jacket and was now trickling down her neck, she approached the motorcycle. It was taking up more than half the width of the narrow road and if she was going to be able to drive past it, she needed to get it out of the way. She reached down and gripped one of the handle bars, and gave it a tug to pull it upwards only to be surprised when it barely shifted. For some reason she'd always expected motorcycles to be light, no heavier than a bike. Adjusting her grip, and using both hands now, she pulled harder, only to feel her heels sliding a bit in the mud.

It took her a couple more tries, but she finally managed to get the motorcycle upright and wheeled it over to the side of the road. Locating the kickstand she propped it up, before looking down at her outfit that was now smeared with mud. Claire swore. There was no way she could go straight back to control. Not looking like this. She could already picture the comments that Lowery would make. Muttering angrily under her breath, she turned to go back to her car when she realized that the light from her car's headlights was reflecting off of something on the other side of the road.

It was then that Claire realized that she'd missed the obvious. There's no way someone would have just randomly abandoned a motorcycle in the middle of the road in the pouring rain. Not on Nublar. Not when these roads were only used by employees. And not when there was actually only one person on the island who even owned…

Her face paled, and she practically sprinted across the road, now terrified about what she was going to find.

There was no way Owen would've left his motorcycle ( _either_ of his motorcycles) lying in the middle of the road. No way. That wasn't like him. If he'd had to abandon it for some reason, he would've moved it off to the side, out of the way. The only reason he _wouldn't_ …

As she reached the other side of the road, she realized that what had caught her eye (and the light of her headlights) was the face of Owen's watch. And the reason she hadn't seen him earlier was because he was lying on his back almost completely off the road, partially hidden in the surrounding growth. Not just that, but his normal work outfit of dark brown pants and leather vest blended in perfectly with all the mud.

"Owen?" she gasped, dropping down to her knees at his side, her concerns about her shoes and clothing disappearing in an instant. "Oh my god, Owen!"

He wasn't moving. She reached out, tentatively at first, her hand lightly touching his arm. It was cool, but not cold and she thought that was probably because he appeared to be half submerged in a puddle of rainwater, his clothing completely soaked. Reaching out more assertively, she gripped his wrist, and let out a sigh of relief when she felt the slow, but steady, thump of his pulse. Shifting, she let her other hand rest on his chest briefly, feeling it rise and fall, before she raised it to his face, gently caressing his cheek.

He groaned, his head shifting away from her hand, but she cupped his cheek, tilting his head back towards her. "Owen? Can you hear me?" When he didn't respond, she patted his cheek gently, and then a bit more firmly, but aside from another groan, he didn't wake.

Claire was debating what to do when she remembered her phone. Patting her pockets she realized it was still in her car. While she hated the thought of leaving him, even briefly, she also had no idea what to do and knew that what she needed most, was to get him help. Standing up, she raced back to her car, grabbing her phone off the passenger seat. She unlocked it, quickly finding the number of the med center and hit call, only for her phone to say it couldn't complete the call as dialed. Confused, she tried again, and got the same message. She picked the number for the control room instead and tried it, but again, she got the same message. At last, focusing more closely on her phone, she realized that instead of it showing her how many bars she had at the top, it said "No Service."

"Dammit," Claire exclaimed, throwing the phone back into the car before turning back to Owen. What was she supposed to do? As she watched, he groaned again and she swiftly slammed her car door and hurried over to him.

"Owen? Please wake up," she pleaded, this time her hands reaching for his shoulders, shaking him gently.

She wished she could move him, but she knew she wasn't strong enough. Even when he was awake and _willing_ , she'd barely ever been able to move him — a fact he'd delighted in, and one that she'd actually also kind of liked, enjoying the weight of him when he'd collapse on top of her, spent and sated. The memories made her cheeks grow hot, even though there was no one around to witness her embarrassment, and she pushed them away as she tried to focus back on the situation at hand.

"Owen?" she asked again, one hand still shaking him, while the other slapped lightly against his cheeks. This time, she was rewarded with a groan and some shifting from him, his eyes fluttering. "OWEN!" She practically shouted his name and, finally, his eyes popped open, before he immediately squeezed them shut, scrunching his face as he squirmed away from the rain that continued to fall. "Owen, come on, look at me, please," she pleaded, when he didn't reopen them, not right away.

"Claire?" he finally whispered, his voice slurred. He opened one eye a crack, squinting up at her. "Whaddya doing here?"

"Oh, thank god," she cried, her hand now gently cupping his cheek, turning his head so he was facing her. "You're alive. What happened?"

"Happened?" Owen sounded confused. He managed to open both eyes, looking around blearily. "Where am I?"

"Your motorcycle…" Claire glanced across the road to where she'd placed it, before focusing on him again.

It took him a moment to connect the dots before recognition settled.

"Right," he said, starting to nod, but stopping the movement almost immediately, his face paling further. He took a couple of deep breaths, and then started to shift, moving to sit up, and Claire immediately pushed down on his shoulders.

"You shouldn't move. What if you…" she trailed off, not sure how to finish that, and not wanting to think about it, either. All she knew was that in movies, they always said not to move someone who had sustained a trauma. That it could make things worse.

"Why am I wet?" he asked, ignoring her, and continuing to push himself into a sitting position. Seeing how he seemed to sway as he moved, his balance unsteady, Claire pushed aside her concerns and decided to focus on helping him instead, her hands gripping his shoulders as she steadied him.

"The storm," she reminded him, and then watched as he looked up, seemingly surprised to realize it was currently raining. "And you're sitting in a puddle."

"Oh." He looked down at the ground around him. "That explains it."

"What happened?" she asked again. "I mean… I'm assuming you had an accident." She looked over at the motorcycle again, and this time Owen followed her gaze.

"Yeah," he said, once again trying to nod, but stopping immediately, his face taking on a green tinge. He took a deep breath, and then a second one, before saying, "Oh, should really not do that."

"I'm pretty sure you've got a concussion," Claire told him. She raised a hand, intent on seeing if she could find a bump on his head, but he shied away from her.

"No, I don't."

"How would you know?" she demanded, looking at him skeptically. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Well…" Owen said, his brow furrowing in thought.

"And you were unconscious! And for who knows how long!" she reminded him.

Again, she reached towards his head and again, he pulled away. Although, considering he immediately swayed from the movement and looked about ready to topple over, she abandoned her plan and grabbed his shoulder instead, steadying him.

When he'd regained his balance, he looked her in the eye and stated: "I didn't hit my head."

"You flipped over the handlebars of your motorcycle! What do you mean you didn't hit your head?!" Claire exclaimed. "How's that possible?"

"I didn't, I swear," Owen said, scowling at her as she scoffed. "Claire, seriously, I remember the accident. I didn't go over the handlebars. The bike got caught in a pothole or something, and flung me off. I went one way, the bike went the other."

While she wasn't inclined to believe him, it _did_ sort of make sense with how she'd found the bike, and where he had ended up. He probably should've been in the middle of the road if he'd gone over the handlebars, like she had first assumed.

"Then why were you unconscious? What caused that?"

At that question, Owen momentarily looked confused and she was sure she'd bested him, but then he looked past her, down at his leg. "My knee. I tried to get up and I passed out because of the pain in my knee."

Following his gaze, Claire couldn't immediately see anything wrong with either of his knees. His pants were drenched and muddy but there weren't any obvious tears in the fabric and no evidence of blood. And neither of his legs were bent in any odd way to indicate a broken bone.

"I think I twisted it, or sprained it, or something," Owen continued when she didn't say anything. "I couldn't put any weight on it." She looked back down at his knee, her hand reaching out instinctively, but he grabbed it, stopping her before she could touch it. "Trust me," he said.

Startled, Claire looked back up at him. Did he think she didn't trust him? "I'm not doubting you," she told him. "I'm just trying to figure out what to do."

"Can we do that somewhere not so wet?" Owen asked, his tone hopeful, raising a hand to swipe away some of the water running down his face. It wasn't until he mentioned it that Claire even remembered it was still pouring, the ground around them getting muddier by the second. She'd been too focused on him to pay any attention to the weather. Too relieved that he'd woken up and seemed to be (mostly) alright.

"How do you expect to do that when you can't walk?" she asked. "I already tried to call for help, but I'm not getting a signal."

"The signal's usually pretty crappy around here normally and this weather will just be making it worse," Owen said. He looked past her towards her car. "But I don't need to walk far. Just to your car. And if you drive a bit closer it'll only be a few steps. You can be my crutch." He grinned at her when he said that, and for the first time since she'd stopped, Claire felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. It was easier to deal with him when he was acting more like his usual self.

Suddenly shivering, realizing just how wet she'd gotten and how cold she was starting to feel, Claire agreed. There was no way that sitting out there in the mud was the better option.

She got back into her car and drove it forward a few feet. She could just make out Owen gesturing for her to drive even closer, but she put the car in park. She didn't want to end up driving _into_ him by accident, or worse yet — sliding off into a ditch. Better to have him hop a couple extra steps.

Getting out, she rounded the car and opened up the passenger door.

"You could've come closer," Owen grumbled when she knelt back down at his side.

Ignoring him, Claire looked down at his knee again. "How do you think we should do this?"

"Um, let me see if I can get up on my other knee first."

She watched, her hands itching to reach out for him, as he shifted about, his face immediately contorting in pain when he had to move his leg. "I don't think that's going to work," she told him, moving closer to his side. "Put your arm around me. I think we just need to do this in one go, as much as possible."

Claire was surprised when he obliged immediately. She'd expected him to argue and insist on giving it another try, but instead, he swung his arm around her shoulders. Bracing herself, she got ready to push up. "Ready?"

"Yeah, as much as I'll ever be," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Okay, go!" she told him, pushing upwards as he moved. It wasn't at all elegant, and they both almost crumpled to the ground more than once, but they managed to eventually get mostly upright. While Claire's anxiety over everything had been draining away, when she realized just how much weight he was resting on her, and just how ashen his face had gone, it all just ratched right back up again. "C'mon, let's get you in before you fall over. I don't think we can do this again."

Owen didn't say anything, but he gave a curt nod. Claire took a small step forward and then waited while he put most of his weight on her before hopping forward. It was slow going, and she kind of wish she _had_ parked closer, but then they were at the door, and he was lowering himself into her car. Watching as he left mud smears against everything he touched, Claire bit back the comments she wanted to make. It was not like her outfit was going to leave _her_ seat any cleaner.

Once he was finally settled, she closed his door and went around and climbed back into the driver's seat. After turning the heater up and putting the fans on full, she set the car in drive and started forward.

The car was quiet except for the sound of the fans and Owen's heavy breathing. She glanced over at him and saw that he was at least looking a bit less ashen, although his hands were gripping his thigh above his knee and there were lines of pain etched across his face. She focused back on the road, intent on getting him to the med centre as fast as she could, which wasn't very fast since she was creeping along, the rain still making it difficult to see and now she was worried about coming across something else blocking the road.

"Wait, where are you going?" Owen's question startled her out of her thoughts and she glanced over at him again, realizing that he was now peering out the window, confused.

"What do you mean?" she hummed, turning her focus back to the road.

"Where are you going?" he repeated. "The paddock is that way." Another quick glance in his direction and he was pointing over his shoulder at the road behind them.

"I'm not taking you to the paddock," she said.

"What? Why?" Owen asked, his voice rising. "I need to check on my girls. They can't be alone. Not in a storm like this."

"Then shouldn't someone be there?"

" _I'm_ supposed to be there."

"Well, why are they left alone now? Surely someone's waiting for you to show up?"

"Well," Owen sounded a bit sheepish, but he quickly regained his confidence. "They weren't going to be for long. I was on my way. The storm just threw everything off. It was only going to be a few minutes."

"You do know–" Claire started, but she cut herself off. What was the point of arguing about it now? While rules were rules, it was not like he could change what he'd done. "As soon as we get a signal, we can call someone to go out there."

"But–"

"No. Owen, you're injured. I'm taking you to–" She didn't get to finish her sentence as she rounded another bend only to have to slam on her brakes, both of them jerking forward against their seatbelts, as a large tree had fallen in the storm and was lying directly across the road. "Fuck."

"Yeah," he agreed, before turning to look at her in surprise. "Wait, did you just swear?"

"I can't move that," Claire said in a small, defeated voice, still staring out the front windshield and ignoring his comment. Why did people always seem surprised when they found out women swore? Like the words were solely the property of men? She reached for her phone, but was unsurprised to find that she still didn't have any service. "Fuck," she repeated. "What else is around here?"

Even though she had stated the question aloud, her mind was already cycling through all the places she'd visited that day. However, they were in the restricted area, and there was very little out there. In fact, there was only one road that left it and re-entered the main park, and that was the road they were on. Thinking through locations, she knew that besides Paddock 11 and the North docks, there was only–

"The raptor paddock," Owen offered up, as if reading her thoughts. She glanced over at him and he was looking positively gleeful about his suggestion. But as soon as he realized she was looking at him, he immediately changed his expression, trying to appear as disappointed as she was.

"There's also Paddock 11," she said flatly, not wanting to cave that easily. And, he'd said there was no one out at the raptor paddock, so how did going there help them? "There should still be some people there."

"The raptors are closer," he immediately countered. "And there's radios there. We should be able to get a hold of someone."

"I don't know," she replied, biting her lip, unconvinced. "We don't know how badly injured you are. The ACU should have jeeps. They might be able to get you to the med center."

"Jeeps aren't going to be able to get past that tree anymore than you can," Owen simply replied, and Claire sighed, knowing he was right.

Still, she'd feel more comfortable with help. She didn't know how to treat anything worse than a basic cut or scrape. And she still didn't quite believe him that he didn't have a concussion. It didn't help that her mind kept filling with worst-case scenarios, like him falling asleep and her being unable to wake him, or that he'd actually injured his spine and it would just take the slightest wrong movement and he'd be paralyzed.

"Fine," he sighed, "Let's go to Paddock 11."

She looked over at him in surprise. He rarely gave in so easily to, well, _anything_. And especially not something they disagreed on. He'd always seemed to relish pushing back even more when he'd realize they were on opposite sides. Not that she could judge him _too_ harshly for that, she sort of did the same. Except, of course, there was one time when he'd barely even blinked, before accepting what she was saying, and that was when she'd chosen to end things between them. She had spent way more time than she was comfortable admitting thinking about that conversation over the past couple of months.

At the time, she was sure she'd been doing the right thing. But as the weeks had passed, and as their paths hadn't crossed, she'd started to fully grasp just how much he'd become an integral part of her life and how much she missed him. She was more stressed out than ever before — last week the Indominus had _eaten_ its sibling and she didn't know what to make of that — but it wasn't the stress relief she missed. She just missed _him_. She'd debated, more than once, sucking it up and calling him or just going out to his place to see him. But each time, she'd chickened out. After all, he'd never given any indication when she'd called it off that he wanted it to continue or even that he wanted to just stay friends. And he hadn't reached out to her.

She was also a little afraid of showing up at his place and finding him, well, _occupied_. After all, he'd agreed from the very beginning that he could always pick someone up at a bar if he wanted. He'd only come to her because it was less effort.

And _that_ was another big piece of the problem — knowing that, knowing that he'd only suggested they do what they did because it was _easier_ , didn't make her feel all that wanted.

Claire refused to be the type of person who pressured a guy to date her, or even to just be friends. She had never been and would never be the type who would latch onto someone and then wait, pathetically, for them to notice her. If Owen didn't want to be friends, that was fine. She wasn't going to make him. Just, was it so wrong that she wished that he did?

"I'm not sure how us just sitting here is better than the raptor paddock."

Owen's voice broke Claire out of her musings and she looked over at him, not quite having heard what he'd said.

"Are we just going to sit here?" he asked when she continued to look at him blankly.

Right. She shifted the car into reverse and started to back up, getting as close to the edge of the road as she dared, before putting it into drive. It took a couple of attempts, but she managed to turn her car around on the narrow road, and soon they were headed back in the direction they had come from. She still wasn't quite sure where she was going — raptors or Indominus — but she knew she didn't need to make the decision yet.

It felt like forever before they were passing by Owen's motorcycle. Claire had been watching for it, trying to find a familiar landmark as the sky darkened further and the rain grew heavier, obstructing her view even more. Glancing at the speedometer, she was surprised to realize just how slowly she was creeping along. The mud was getting deeper, and she was starting to get worried that they may actually end up getting stuck before they reached _either_ paddock.

"Are you okay?"

Claire risked a glance over at Owen who was looking at her with concern.

"If you squeeze that steering wheel any tighter you might just break it in two," he said, nodding towards her white-knuckled grip.

She tried to relax her fingers, but the moment she did the front right tire caught in a dip and she felt the steering wheel sliding through her hands. Claire immediately retightened her grasp, mentally reminding herself not to fight, but to let the car get tugged and then correct after. "Sorry," she finally said to Owen, remembering that he was watching her. "I just… this isn't my favourite thing to be driving about in."

"I don't think it's anyone's," he said. "But, slow is good."

"What were you thinking going out in this on your _motorcycle_?" Claire asked, hoping for a distraction.

"It wasn't raining this hard when I left," he said. "And it seemed better than walking."

She glanced over at him, looking pointedly down at his knee, before replying, "You sure about that?"

"Well, not _now_ ," he admitted. "But, you know, hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that."

They fell silent again after that, and Claire kept her focus on the road, or as much of it as she could make out. Even with the wipers going full speed and the heaters full blast, it felt like with every passing minute she could make out less and less of the road outside. When she finally came across the sign indicating the turn for the raptor paddock, she made an executive decision, leaving the main road.

She waited for Owen to say something, but he remained quiet. After a minute, she looked over at him, suddenly worried he'd lost consciousness or something. Surely he'd be gloating that she'd done what he'd originally wanted her to. But, to her surprise, he was just looking tensely out the window, his jaw set tautly against pain and worry.

Five minutes later, she was finally pulling into the clearing at the paddock. She drove her car close to the small office building before turning it off.

Clearing her throat, she turned to Owen. "Let's get you inside and find a radio."

"I need to check on my girls, first," he replied, staring out his window in the direction of the paddock, although it was hard to make out more than its general shape through all the rain.

"No," Claire said firmly. "What you need is to get inside, and we need to get help, and probably elevate your knee. Maybe ice it? Do you have ice here?"

"Yeah, probably," Owen replied distractedly, before opening his door and turning in his seat, intent on getting out.

Claire quickly got out and raced around the side, worried that he was going to end up falling on his face or something, and not wanting to have to figure out how to get him upright a second time.

Owen hadn't waited for her, instead he was leaning heavily against the side of the car as he hopped _away_ from the building towards the paddock.

"I have to check on them," he repeated, when he caught her staring at him.

"You really think you're going to be able to get from _here_ to _there_ all by yourself?" she asked, staying just out of his reach as he reached the back of her car.

"If you're not going to help me, I guess I'll have no choice," he said, gritting his teeth as he let go of the vehicle, gingerly putting some weight on his left leg. His leg gave out almost immediately, but Claire had predicted that, and had already leapt forward, grabbing for him. He sagged into her with a huff, his arms wrapping around her and she almost buckled under his weight. After a few precarious moments, they managed to stay upright.

"Can we go inside _now_?" she asked. "You know there's no way you can climb the stairs."

"Just take me over to the holding pen," he said. "I just want to get a look at them. And in this rain, the cameras will be useless. You know how important it is that we have eyes on them."

"You're infuriating, you know that?" she told him, although she could feel her resolve weakening.

"Hey, think of it this way: better we do this now while we're already wet, then go in and get dry and need to come back out here after," he told her.

"I was thinking that we'd go in and call for help and the _help_ can check on them," she grumbled, but she was already helping him across the field towards the paddock.

"Oh, and we need to feed them," Owen added, trying to steer her towards the shed. "Well, _you_ need to feed them."

"I'm sorry, what? You want me to do _what_?" Claire wasn't able to hide her horror at his suggestion (not that she tried to).

"Like you said, I can't climb up the stairs," he admitted. "So you'll have to. But first, we need to get their food."

Claire stopped, halting their movement. "Wait, are you really expecting me to be able to carry their food _and_ you?" she asked him, her jaw dropping. "While I don't consider myself weak, do you have any idea just how heavy you are?"

"I'm solid muscle," he said, leering down at her. "Besides, it's never bothered you before. In fact, I'd've said–"

"That was different," Claire interrupted him, pulling away from him defensively. His cockiness disappeared in an instant as he groaned in pain, grimacing as he had to shift some of his weight back to his bad leg in order to remain upright. Rolling her eyes, she moved back to his side muttering under her breath about how he was a _stupid stubborn idiot_.

"You used to _like_ –" Owen started, but he stopped the minute she looked up at him and he let out a sigh, before his gaze focused back on the paddock. Claire was surprised when he redirected their conversation back to the raptors. "They need to be fed."

"Then you do it."

"I _would_ , but…" Owen looked down at his leg, before he looked at her, his voice pleading. "They gotta eat, Claire."

"I'm not feeding them," she stated firmly.

"Trust me, you don't want them hungry."

She didn't reply, instead starting them across the field again, focused on getting them to the paddock. She wasn't sure how long Owen was actually going to manage to stay upright, or how long she was going to be able to support him.

"What do they eat?" she asked as Owen punched in the code to the holding pen. "What would I be getting?"

"This time of day we usually serve them their main meal," he replied, the two of them entering the pen. "There should be a couple of large containers in the fridge. Not the ones with rats–" Claire instinctively shuddered and Owen chuckled "–those are their treats."

"Can you feed them something else?" she asked, stopping with him a couple feet back from the inner gate.

Owen raised his hand and used his fingers to let out a loud whistle before he responded. "Hm… actually, I think we might have a couple of pigs here. We could probably just release those. They might like that, actually. Getting to chase their dinner."

Claire shuddered again, but before she could reply, four raptors suddenly materialized at the inner gate. She hadn't even heard them moving about. One minute there had been nothing there, and then four snouts pressed to the gate, a couple of them clawing at the metal bars. She startled and attempted to take a step back, but was prevented from doing so by Owen's arm draped over her shoulder, keeping her trapped.

"Blue!" Owen exclaimed, his voice cheerful, and any traces of his early pain momentarily disappearing. "Charlie! Echo! Delta! How are you doing? Is the rain bothering you?"

Claire hid her groan and eye-roll as he continued to talk to the raptors as if they were humans who could respond. The raptors chose to mostly just snarl in response, although there were a few chitters that did make it feel a bit more two-sided.

Claire tuned back in when she heard her name.

"This is Claire," Owen was saying. "She's going to feed you."

"Owen! I'm not–"

"She's going to find some pigs for you to chase," he continued on as if she hadn't said anything, and she bit back her groan. One of the raptors let out a long string of chitters at that. "Yeah, that's right. Pigs. More than one. Enjoy."

It was a couple more minutes before Claire managed to pull him away so they could actually find and release the pigs that the raptors were looking more and more excited about. Corralling the pigs into the chute to the paddock was an experience Claire would be happy to never repeat (and she was extremely thankful that it wasn't caught on camera, and that Owen had refrained from making any snarky comments). When they finally opened the hatch to release the pigs into the paddock, there were excited squawks from the raptors and Claire felt Owen tense briefly at her side.

"Everything okay?"

"Just wishing I could see their reaction," he admitted, sounding wistful. "Would love to see how this all plays out. May have to do it again, sometime."

"Can we go inside now?" Claire asked after a long pause. She'd been trying hard not to shudder or give any other obvious outwards signs as they listened to the squeal of the pigs and the snarls from the raptors. "Maybe find some dry clothes and that radio you promised?"

She watched as Owen stared into the paddock for a long moment (not that they could see the raptors or the pigs), before he turned his attention back to her, "Yeah, sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, followed, gave kudos, bookmarked or gave any other indication that they read and enjoyed the first chapter. It definitely makes my day to receive any of those notifications. :)
> 
> I hope everyone is continuing to stay safe and taking all necessary precautions to remain healthy. There's a lot going on in the world right now, and the pandemic is only a piece of it (and is most definitely _not_ over). In order to see real lasting positive change in so many areas that desperately need it, we all need to do our part. Black Lives Matter. Show your support. Sign petitions, donate, protest — do what makes sense in your area of the world.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it never quite works out that I post on the right day. But the 24th (yesterday) is my JW fic "anniversary". Two years! Thanks to everyone who has been, currently is, or eventually joins this adventure. It's been fun. :)

**Chapter 3**

By the time they made it into the building, Claire could feel Owen leaning more and more heavily on her as he struggled to stay upright. They hadn't talked as they'd half-walked, half-hopped across the field, and as she looked up at him, now that they were out of the rain and under some bright lights, she could see that his face was looking grey, and the pain lines had deepened.

"Okay, first things first, let's get you off that leg" she said, as they made their way down the short hallway. "Is there a couch in here?"

"In the lounge," Owen replied, pointing a bit farther down the hall towards a door.

Their progress was slow and laboured, but they eventually made it into the lounge. After flipping on the lights, Claire was about to lead him over to the couch when she paused, taking a critical look at him, and then at the couch.

"What?" Owen asked, trying to pull away from her and hop towards it.

Claire tightened her hold on him. "You're soaked."

"Yeah, so? You are too, you know."

"If you sit on the couch, you're going to ruin it," she continued, ignoring him. "And we don't know how long it'll take help to get here." She looked around the room. It was pretty small, most of the space taken up by the couch pushed against one of the walls. Opposite it, there was a fridge, and a counter with a sink, microwave and coffee maker with cupboards above and below. There was also a small table and a few chairs. She turned them towards the chairs. "Just sit here for a minute."

Claire was surprised when Owen didn't argue, just sinking gratefully down onto the chair. She pulled out a second one and helped him prop his foot up on it, before moving over to the counter and rummaging through the cupboards.

"What are you looking for?" Owen asked, watching her curiously.

"First aid kit. Surely you've got one around here," she told him, before moving to the fridge and opening the freezer. She was surprised (but pleased) to find an ice pack in there. She pulled it out, abandoning her search to take it over to him, settling it over his knee.

"Yeah, there's one in my office. I could really go for an Advil or two. Or maybe the whole bottle," Owen said, as he reached out a hand to hold the ice in place. "You should be able to find a radio in there, too."

After he gave her instructions as to where to look, she left him in the lounge and headed back down the hall.

As Claire entered his office, she remembered her phone and pulled it out, but unfortunately it still said no service. She took a moment to look around the room. She'd never been to Owen's office before, having had very few reasons to visit the raptor paddock in the past. But, while there were two desks in the room, she was able to immediately pick out what one was Owen's. One desk looked well organized, while the other was chaotic, covered in random items and she headed straight for it. For all the time he'd supposedly spent in the military, he just couldn't keep things neat and tidy. She absently placed her phone down, as she got momentarily distracted by the items on the desk. There was a mostly chewed up rubber ring, multiple stacks of paperwork, and a … slinky? Chuckling a bit to herself, Claire forced herself to focus on tracking down the two items she'd come in search of.

After locating them — they were surprisingly exactly where Owen had said they would be — she returned to the lounge.

"Got them," she told him as she headed to the fridge to grab a bottle of water before returning to his side. She handed him the water and then rifled through the first aid kit until she found a bottle of Advil. She poured out a couple, and as she handed them over he practically grabbed them from her hand, swallowing them with a large gulp of water. "Guess I don't need to ask how much it hurts," she said, looking down at his knee where the ice pack was still sitting.

"The ice is helping," he admitted. "But it's still throbbing like crazy. But that's better than the constant sharp jabs of pain that used to be stabbing through it." Owen gave her a weak grin when she looked at him, her concern written all over her face.

As a distraction, and because it was also necessary, she picked up the radio.

"Do you know what channel I'm supposed to put this on?" she asked as she examined it.

Back when she'd first moved to the island for work, pretty much everyone used the radios. However, over the past five or so years, the radios had become less common as they continued to expand the cell coverage. She could no longer remember what the island protocols were, except that there were specific channels for various communication.

"Here, let me," Owen held out his hand.

Her first instinct was to not give it to him, but she chided herself (in her head) before passing it over. After all, it didn't matter which one of them got a hold of someone, just that _one_ of them did. Still, she never liked having to give up any control if she didn't have to.

She watched as he turned it on, turning the dial to select a channel, before radioing for help: "Raptor paddock to Control, this is Grady."

They waited for a response, nearly holding their breaths, but all they got was static. He repeated his request, but again, just more crackling.

"Let me try a different channel," Owen muttered, changing the dial.

Claire waited, growing more impatient and worried as he attempted to get a hold of the ACU with no response, and then the emergency channel. "I thought the radios were supposed to be the backup for the phones," she said, watching as he gave up and put the radio back on the table beside him.

"They are," he nodded.

"What good is a backup that no one answers?"

"Radios have limited distance, and don't do as well when there are hills and mountains in the way," he replied. "That's why there are all the radio towers scattered across the island, to help amplify their signal. I'm guessing the storm may have damaged the one closest to us. We'll have to wait for the rain to die down some, before we try again."

Claire was ready to argue with him, except she didn't know what to suggest. She didn't really want to get back into the car. Not with it still pouring heavily. The roads would be even worse now. And at least here they'd be more comfortable than if they ended up stranded in her car.

"Okay," she said as she started to pace the room, her thoughts whirling.

She needed a plan. She knew she could get through anything if she just had a plan. Claire raised a hand to run it through her hair, which just reminded her that, like Owen, she was also soaked to the bone. And the moment she remembered that, she started shivering. If they were going to be trapped there, she needed to find them something else to wear. That would be Step 1 of her plan.

Turning around as she reached the far wall, she retraced her steps back to Owen.

"Do you keep a change of clothes here?" she asked, stopping in front of him.

"Of course," he said. "I always keep a spare set. It can be a dirty–"

"Where are they?" she interrupted him, not carrying _why_ he kept them. After all, she did too, although her spare set was back in her office.

"Why?"

"Because we're both soaking wet," she replied, barely able to suppress an eye roll. "Why do you think? I don't know how long we're going to be here, but I don't think both of us sitting around in wet clothes is helpful."

"They're in the bottom drawer of my desk," he told her.

She nodded, but was already on her way out of the room, hurrying back to his office. She found the clothes easily enough and she quickly sifted through the stack. There was a single pair of pants, a sweatshirt, and a button up shirt. Claire looked over at Barry's desk, debating searching his drawers. She wondered if this counted as enough of an emergency for that invasion of privacy. A big shiver running down her spine made the decision for her and she quickly pulled them open. There were only three drawers, and, like the desk they were all well organized. And none of them contained clothes. Dammit.

Taking what she had found, she returned to Owen and dropped the stack onto the table before him. "This is all I could find."

Owen rifled through the three items and nodded, "Yeah, I usually just keep a single set here."

"Take off your shirt," she said as she pulled the dry button-up shirt from the stack. When she looked back at him, he was just staring at her quizzically. "What?"

"Do you have a spare set of clothes in your car?" he asked, reaching out and running his hand down her side, his hand coming away wet. "You're soaked, too."

"No," she admitted. "After you get changed I was going to take a look around to see what else I can find."

"I can wait," he replied immediately.

"Owen, you're injured. Being wet and cold isn't going to help. It's fine. Let's get you settled and then I'll look for something."

"I don't know that anyone else actually keeps anything here," he said after a thoughtful pause. "Barry, maybe, but there's really no reason for anyone else. Most of the rest cycle through here and some of the other paddocks."

"Oh." Claire's face fell as she admitted, "I checked Barry's desk already."

"We'll just have to share," he told her, looking over at the meger stack of clothes she'd found.

"We've barely got enough clothes for you," she protested. "C'mon, just get changed, you're shaking like a leaf. I'll figure something out."

"Take the shirt," he insisted. "I don't need two shirts. I can just wear the sweatshirt."

"Fine," Claire growled. "Take off your shirt!"

"I can change my own clothes," he protested.

"Ugh!" She turned back towards the table, putting down the button-up she was holding, feeling frustrated.

Deciding not to wait on him, and to be a good role model, she quickly removed her drenched jacket followed by her mostly soaked blouse. Her bra, thankfully, seemed pretty dry, so she left it on as she picked up the shirt again, slipping her arms through the sleeves. She let out a small sigh, immediately feeling her shoulders relax as the soft, warm dryness of worn cotton enveloped her. As she finished buttoning it up, she turned back to Owen, with an expectant look, only to find him staring at her, his mouth slightly open.

"What?" she asked, her brows furrowing, as her gaze darted behind her. "What are you looking at? And why haven't you changed?"

Her questions seemed to break him out of his stupor, but he didn't say anything, his hands finally rising as he shrugged out of his vest and started to undo the buttons on his shirt.

As Claire waited for him to change his shirt, she let her gaze roam about the room again, this time spotting a blanket that was haphazardly folded and laying over the back of the couch. Maybe she could use it as sort of a makeshift skirt, as her pants were drenched, and now that her upper half was dry, they were becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"Um, Claire?" Owen's stuttered question drew her attention back to him. He had put on the sweatshirt, and had stood back up, although he was leaning pretty heavily on the table. His pants were undone, but were still mostly up around his hips.

"What?" she asked, frowning at his half-changed state.

"I, um, I–" His gaze darted away from hers, bouncing around the room briefly, and she watched as he visibly worked to collect himself, before he finally looked at her again. "Um, I can't get my pants off, not without–" He looked down at his bad knee, and she noticed he was balancing all of his weight on his good leg.

"Oh," she said, "Sure, no problem. Let me help." She moved confidently towards him, her hands reaching for his pants, before she paused, her head tilting to the side as she considered the situation.

"What?"

"Just wondering the best way to do this," she replied absently.

"It's not hard," Owen said, and Claire couldn't help when her gaze immediately dropped to his groin. She heard Owen's sharp intake of breath at her action, but she forced herself not to blush, looking back up at him.

"Hey, you're the one who–"

"Yeah, whatever," he cut her off. "I'm not sure I can get it over my knee. I think it's too swollen. But, maybe you can?"

"Sure," Claire agreed.

This time when she reached for his pants, she grabbed them and immediately started tugging them down. Frowning, she realized that his boxers were equally wet. Although, considering he'd been lying in a mud puddle for who knows how long, she probably shouldn't be surprised. As his pants reached his knees, she quickly determined that getting them off was going to be a problem. It was easy enough to slide it down his right leg, but she could barely move it over his left. She squatted down, tugging at it, only for Owen to suck in a sharp breath and whimper a little. She looked up, and saw that he was breathing heavily now, and was leaning even more against the table.

"Tell you what," she stood back up. "Why don't you sit down. I think I might need to cut them off."

"Cut them?!" Owen's eyes widened, his voice horrified.

"I can pull harder, but do you really want to keep them? They're probably ruined anyway."

"It's just mud, it'll wash out," he argued, but he sank back down onto the chair anyway. "But fine, cut them."

"Scissors?" she asked, and he pointed vaguely back towards the counter. She searched the drawers, quickly finding a pair and then returned to his side. Kneeling on the floor, she reached for the hem of his pant leg and tried to cut through. Unfortunately, the hem was too thick, and the scissors were clearly not meant to cut through fabric.

She tried in a few different places, before putting the scissors down and looking up at Owen, where she had to suppress a laugh. He looked like someone had kicked his puppy. He was pouting, and that combined with the half dressed look, with the pants around his knees was hard to reconcile with the confident person he normally was.

"This is so embarrassing," Owen admitted, when he caught Claire looking at him.

"It could be worse," she said.

"How?"

"At least we're alone here."

"True," he conceded. "Although, if there were others, maybe we'd be able to get some help."

"Maybe," Claire agreed, before remembering what she had meant to say. "I can't cut them. They're too thick. I'm going to try to pull them, again."

"No!" Owen reached out protectively, his hands encircling his knee.

"Owen, you can't stay in them."

"Why not? It's not like I'll be able to put the other pair on."

At his comment, they both turned and looked at the pair of pants still folded on the desk. Oh, Claire hadn't thought of that. But he was right, if they could barely get his current pants off, it was unlikely they'd be able to get a new pair on over the knee. Especially since it'd probably swell more the moment it was free.

Still…

"No, they're wet, you'll get cold," she stated firmly, gripping the pants again. "I know it's going to hurt, but–" Before he could interrupt her or say anything, she quickly yanked down as hard as she could. She heard him let loose a strangled gasp, but she managed to get them over his knee. And now that she was face to, well, _knee,_ she could see just how bad it looked, the area an angry red and noticeably swollen.

"That was mean," Owen said, when he finally managed to get his breathing back under control.

Claire just hummed, not really agreeing or disagreeing, as she finished removing the pants. "But they're off now," she said. "We should ice your knee some more. It really doesn't look good. And get you over to the couch. Here."

She stood up, reaching out a hand which he reluctantly grasped, letting her help pull him to his feet. She tucked herself back under his shoulder as a crutch, before she assisted him over to the couch. However, just as she was about to let him sit down, she remembered something.

"Wait," she stopped him. "Your boxers."

"What about them?" he asked with a groan.

"They're wet," she told him matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, so? I don't keep an extra pair here and I'm not taking them off."

"Owen…"

"No!"

"You're not going to warm up lying in wet underwear. And you're just going to make the couch wet."

He simply glared at her, his jaw set tautly.

"Why not?"

"I'll be naked!"

"You've got a sweatshirt on," she reminded him. "And there's a blanket." She pointed to where it was still sitting on the back of the couch.

"Yeah, but–" He looked pointedly at her.

"Really, Owen? It's not like I haven't seen it before," she said with a roll of her eyes. "But if it'll make you feel better I can turn around."

"You're really not making this anymore comfortable," he mumbled. "Fine, give me the blanket."

She helped him sit down on the couch before grabbing the blanket and after shaking it out, handed it over and then turned away from him, hiding her own grin. She knew she shouldn't find the whole situation funny, but to see him taken down a few pegs, knocked off his normally perfectly centered balance was kind of fun.

Realizing she was staring at the fridge again, she grabbed the abandoned ice pack off the table and returned it to the freezer as it was no longer cold. Rooting around further, she managed to find a tray of ice cubes, and she removed it, searching the cupboards and drawers until she found a clean dish towel. She emptied the ice onto it, then refilled the tray with water and returned it to the freezer.

By the time she turned back around, Owen was stretched out on the couch, the blanket wrapped around him tightly. Trying to hide her amusement, she returned to the couch with the bundle of ice and handed it over.

"What about your pants?" he asked after he had placed the ice on his knee. She looked at him confused. "Your pants are wet, too. If I have to lose mine, surely you should have to lose yours."

She was both relieved and annoyed by the mischievous twinkle in his eye. She hoped it meant he was feeling a bit better, now that he was dry. "It's not a competition, Owen. I'm fine. I'm not injured, remember?"

"We don't know how long we'll be here," Owen reminded her, looking pointedly out the window where it was still raining heavily. "There's still my other pair of pants…"

"They'll be too big," Claire protested.

"Then use a belt," he simply said.

"I'll look ridiculous," she grumbled, but she walked over and picked up the pair of pants anyway. It _would_ be nice to be dry all over. Maybe she could figure out a way to dry her clothes in the meantime. Hang them up or something. When they finally _did_ manage to get through to someone, she'd prefer to be wearing her own clothes, and Owen would most definitely want to be wearing at minimum his boxers. She bit her lip, trying to hide the laughter that bubbled up at the mental picture of others showing up to find Owen only in a blanket and a sweatshirt.

She shimmied out of her pants and pulled on Owen's. They were, unsurprisingly, way too long, and way too big around the waist. Holding them up with one hand, she picked up his wet pants that were still lying in a heap on the floor, pulling the belt out. However, after sliding the belt through the loops and pulling it tight, she quickly realized that the smallest hole on the belt was still way too large. Undoing it, she instead tied it into an awkward knot, hoping it would stay up, and pulled the shirt down over top. Finally, she rolled up the pant legs a few times so that she wouldn't trip on them everytime she moved. She felt ridiculous, like a little kid playing dress up in their parents closet. But, at least she was actually dry now.

After draping her wet clothes (and Owen's) over the chairs in hopes that they might air dry, she finally turned back to Owen. He was staring at her, an odd look in his eye, and she looked down at her outfit self-consciously. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just…" he trailed off, and she gave him a pointed look, waiting for him to explain. "You know, for all the time we spent together, I don't think I've ever seen you in my clothes before."

"What is it with guys liking that?" Claire asked, the question popping out unbidden.

"What is it with gir– _women_ wanting to wear them?" he countered, quickly correcting himself mid sentence off her glare.

"Normally they're comfortable," she admitted, tugging at the hem of his shirt. The shirt actually _was_ comfortable. The pants? Not so much. "So much of our clothing is tight and form-fitting. It can be nice to just wear something loose." She left out the real reason that she, personally, had enjoyed it in the past — that the clothes always seemed to retain a lingering scent of their owner. The current shirt she was wearing was no different. While it was comforting, it also felt like a bit of a gut punch, after having not seen Owen for a couple of months, and knowing she had no right to miss him. "What about you?"

"I guess it's sort of a caveman-neanderthal possessive sort of thing," he admitted, his hands already rising in defense before she could say anything. "I know, I know, you don't need anyone. You can take care of yourself."

Claire wasn't really sure how to respond to that, or to the look he was giving her. For a brief moment, she'd almost thought that he was looking at her with longing. Latching on to his final words instead, she tried to shift the tone of the conversation. "I think it's pretty clear who needs someone to help take care of them," she said, looking pointedly at the ice bundle still on his knee. "How's the ice?"

"Wet," Owen replied, seemingly fine with the change of subject. "I think it's mostly melted." He held up the towel which Claire could now see was dripping.

"Oh, let me get rid of that." She took it from him, dumping out the few bits of ice in the sink and squeezing out as much water as she could, before adding the towel to the clothing she had already hung up.

"I've never seen you look so domestic," Owen joked, drawing her attention. "Hanging up laundry, almost literally barefoot in the kitchen…"

"You wish," Claire scoffed.

"Not really. I think I like boss Claire more," he said, and she looked at him in surprise, not sure if his words were truthful or if he was still talking in jest. "There's something about powerful women…" He briefly leered at her, before breaking out in a large grin.

"Ugh," she groaned at his antics. She glanced over at the "laundry" before adding: "I'm hoping by the time the rain stops and we can get help out here, my pants will be dry. I'd prefer no one else sees me like this."

"Oh," he said looking sheepish, before pulling out his boxers which he appeared to have stuffed between the blanket and the back of the couch. "Can you hang these up too?" She must have hesitated a second too long, because he added, "C'mon, it's not like you haven't touched them before."

"You know, you should count yourself lucky," Claire told him, as she took the boxers and hung them up. "I wouldn't do this for just any coworker." She quickly turned away before she could see his reaction to her calling him that.

After hanging the boxers on the back of the remaining chair and washing her hands, she picked up the radio again. She remembered Owen's earlier actions, and repeated the calls he'd tried, but still got no response. Placing the radio back on the table, Claire looked around for her cell phone, before realizing she must have left it in Owen's office earlier.

"Be right–" she started to say, but when she looked back over at Owen, she realized his eyes were closed, and he appeared to be asleep. While she knew he was in pain, she didn't think the Advil she'd given him should have knocked him out. Remembering her earlier concern about him having a concussion, she hurried to his side, shaking his shoulder roughly. "Owen?"

His eyes almost immediately popped open. "What?" he rasped, blinking up at her, his voice suddenly sounding drowsy. Had she missed him getting tired before, too caught up in their bantering? Had he been yawning?

"You fell asleep," she told him.

"I'm tired," he mumbled, turning his head and pulling the blanket up a bit higher.

"I'm worried you have a concussion," she repeated her earlier concern.

"I don't," he, again, repeated his earlier denial. "I'm just–" he yawned "–tired. I think the adrenaline rush is gone."

She wanted to protest, to tell him he needed to stay awake, but he seemed lucid. She nodded after a brief hesitation and finally consented. "Okay, but I'm still going to wake you in a bit. Don't die on me. Or go into a coma or something."

"Nice to know you care," he said, the words slurring together as a smile briefly flitted across his lips. A moment later, he was asleep.

Leaving him there, Claire went and retrieved her phone from his office. Unfortunately, (but as expected), it still had no signal. Spotting the laptop on his desk, she knew it must be connected to the internet. Maybe she could send an email and get help that way. She booted it up, waiting impatiently for it to come to life, and then cursed under her breath when the login screen appeared. What would he use as a password? She tried the usual ones (name, birthday, ' _password'_ ), but they didn't work. However, after her third error, a hint popped up. "Chief."

Her jaw dropped before she clamped it shut, swallowing heavily. Surely he didn't mean… Carefully, she typed in her name and hit enter, waiting for the "wrong password" message to reappear. But it didn't, instead logging her in.

What did it mean that _she_ was his password? That he was using the pet name he'd taken to calling her back when they were… something. The name she'd never really understood, but since it wasn't "babe" or something else equally nauseating, she'd never complained.

Before she could get caught up in her thoughts, the desktop had loaded and she opened up the browser, only for it to immediately give her a "no internet connection found" error message. Dammit. Was it really too much to ask for _something_ to work in her favour?

Logging off, Claire returned to the lounge, where she found Owen still fast asleep, although now emitting gentle snores. Unsure what to do while she waited, and with the chairs currently functioning as drying racks for their clothes, she settled on the floor, leaning against the couch so she could keep a close eye on him in case anything changed.

Pulling out her phone, she opened up her email. While she may not have an internet connection, she could still draft replies while she waited.

x-o-x

Springing upright, Claire looked around wildly, trying to figure out where she was and what had woken her. She could hear rain pounding heavily against the roof above her.

Right. The storm. The raptor paddock. And Owen.

Owen!

A low moan from behind her had her quickly spinning around. She rose up onto her knees, to find that Owen was no longer sleeping peacefully, instead tossing and turning on the couch that was too narrow for his massive frame. The blanket had dipped a bit dangerously low, but she ignored that, instead reaching out for him, grasping his shoulders and shaking him, while calling out his name.

"Owen, wake up," she said. "Come on, Owen."

He just continued to toss, another low groan emanating. She reached up, planning on running a hand through his hair, something she knew he'd taken comfort from in the past, but she stopped midway. She could feel heat radiating off of him and she quickly rested the back of her hand against his forehead instead, confirming her fears.

He was burning up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw poor Owen. Mind you, he _had_ been laying in that puddle for who knows how long. :)
> 
> Oh, and I posted a new [Snapshot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16882443/chapters/60124003) Sunday night. I've got a second one that will be coming (it's sketched out, just not written) that is a companion to it. So, if you haven't read it yet, go check it out. 
> 
> PS - It's my birthday. I'd love it if you gave me some kudos and wrote me a comment for a gift. Thanks. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Oh no, oh no, oh no. What was she supposed to do now? Claire felt the panic rising inside of her as Owen continued to groan and toss about fitfully on the couch in front of her. She took a steadying breath, and then another, before she managed to pull herself together. She just needed a plan she reminded herself. Everything would be okay if she just had a plan.

The problem, she discovered, was that while her brain was throwing out multiple suggestions on what she should do, she had no idea how to prioritize them: Wake him up. Give him more Advil. A cool cloth or something for his forehead and neck. Call for help. What was more important?

Getting up, and then almost tripping on her first step, she was reminded that she was still dressed in Owen's spare clothes. One of the pant legs had come slightly unrolled, and she hastily rolled it back up, before heading for the table. She grabbed the bottle of Advil and water from earlier and then quickly returned to Owen's side.

"Owen?" she asked as she knelt back down by the couch, depositing the medicine and water on the floor beside her. She reached out and grasped his shoulders, shaking him lightly, and then harder, as she continued to call out his name. It took a few tries, but eventually his eyes opened, although his gaze remained bleary and unfocused. It made her wonder in a panic if he could even see her.

"Wha...?" he said, his voice hoarse. He stared at her for a long moment and then asked, puzzled, "Claire? What are you doing here? Am I dreaming?"

"You've got a fever," she told him, opening the Advil and shaking out a couple before holding them out. "Here, you need to take another dose." When he didn't take the pills from her, she rolled her eyes, before grabbing his hand and dropping them onto it. "I wish we had a thermometer."

He continued to look at her blankly. Grumbling, she stood up and helped him sit up a bit, so it'd be easier for him to swallow.

"Take them," she repeated, directing his hand towards his mouth, and he finally did, accepting the bottle of water to wash them down. After having a few sips, he handed the bottle back to her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and starting to look a bit more "with it," to Claire's relief.

However, her relief was short-lived when he tried to turn, as if to sit on the edge of the couch, and his face paled instantly, his hands shooting out to grab hold of his knee as he stifled a strangled groan. "Oooh, not a good idea," he muttered, his eyes squeezed tightly shut against the pain.

"Let me get you some more ice," Claire offered hastily.

She wasn't sure how long they had slept, but hopefully long enough for at least some of it to have frozen. Opening the freezer, she was happy to see that the ice pack seemed cold enough to use, and she returned with it. After gently prying his hands away from his knee, she replaced them with the ice pack, and the pain lines on his face smoothed out somewhat almost immediately.

"Thanks," Owen said, looking at her briefly, before returning his gaze to his knee. "God, this sucks."

For a minute, both of them were quiet, Claire watching him tentatively, and Owen's gaze focused on his knee. She wanted to reach out and check his temperature again, but she resisted, knowing that it was unlikely to have changed in the few minutes he was awake, the Advil not having had a chance to have an effect yet. But, that reminded her…

"Right, help," she muttered, turning away from him and walking back to the table where she'd placed her phone earlier and where the radio was still sitting, Her phone still had no signal, and so she once again tried the three radio channels, only to again have no luck.

Checking the time, she saw that it was now after nine, the afternoon and evening having disappeared on them. Surely _someone_ was looking for her, she thought. She was supposed to have gone by Control after her visit to Paddock 11. Maybe they'd luck out, and someone would show up to find them.

Of course, if they did… she looked down at her—Owen's—clothes again. She put down the radio and checked the clothes that she'd hung up to dry. The pants she'd been wearing earlier were now more damp than wet, but she wasn't keen to put them on, not when they were also covered in drying mud. The only item that felt mostly dry were Owen's boxers, and knowing that he'd appreciate being slightly more clothed than he currently was, she took them over to him.

"I think these are dry enough," she said, holding them out, and he took them gratefully. "Um," she blushed, "do you need any help?"

"No, I think I can do it," he said, handing her the ice pack. "Although… I do actually need to use the bathroom."

"Oh," her gaze darted to his boxers and then the ice pack in her hand. "Yeah, I can help with that." At his laugh, she rethought what she'd said, before amending. "I can help you _to_ the bathroom. I'm sure you're more than capable of doing what you need to do on your own." She had to force herself to stop rambling, and she looked down at the ice pack again, intent on ignoring his gaze. "I'm just going to put this…"

As she tucked it back into the freezer, she could hear him groaning as he worked to get his boxers back on. Deciding to give him some privacy, and not really wanting to deal with any comments that he may have, Claire stayed right where she was, waiting until he called her name before she returned to his side and helped him stand up.

By the time she had helped him hop to the bathroom and then had collected him when he was done and helped him hop back to the couch, there was a noticeable layer of sweat on Owen's forehead, and his face was again pinched from pain.

"You should drink more," she told him, picking up the bottle of water and holding it out to him.

"Uh uh," he shook his head. "If I drink I'm going to have to attempt _that_ again."

"Owen," she said sternly, but he clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head harder. She let out a resigned sigh, putting the water down, before returning to the freezer to grab the ice pack. It hadn't had much time in there, but the ice cubes weren't frozen yet, and she figured it was still better than nothing.

After she handed it over again, she reached out, resting the back of her hand against his forehead. "You're still too hot," she said, as he tilted his head to look up at her.

Immediately, a grin crossed his face, laughter bursting forth. "Why, thanks."

"Ugh," she groaned, stepping back. She walked over to the sink, finding some paper towels and turning the tap on to cold. Holding her hand under it, she gave it a few seconds to get a bit colder, before wetting the paper towels. She squeezed them out a bit, so they weren't dripping, before she returned to Owen's side. "I don't think you can take any more Advil, not yet," she said as she raised the paper towels to his forehead, placing them where she'd been resting her hand earlier and holding them in place.

"Oh, cold!" Owen instinctively tried to squirm away at first, before he relaxed into it. "Actually, that feels kind of nice."

Without thinking, Claire raised her other hand up, running her fingers through his hair. She could feel the tension starting to loosen, his body becoming more relaxed. "Why don't you lie back down," she suggested softly.

"Wait, don't go." He reached up, clasping her wrist, holding her in place. "Please."

"Where would I go?" She looked around the small room.

"Sit with me?" he asked, not answering her question.

"Owen…" Claire started, before trailing off, not really sure why she was protesting. For one thing, sitting on the couch would be much more comfortable than the floor. But, she also knew that for all his joking around, he had to be feeling awful. And not just from the pain from his knee, but also the fever that was still leaving him flushed. "Okay, just let me re-wet the paper towels first."

Carrying them back to the sink, she turned on the tap before grabbing a few extra paper towels, and then wetting the stack. Returning to the couch, she surveyed it critically. The couch was actually a pretty decent size, but considering that Owen was stretched out along it, there really wasn't any space left for her to sit.

Her gaze landed on the man in question next. His eyes were closed, but they popped open the moment she placed the newly wet paper towels back on his forehead.

As she moved to sit down on the floor again, he stopped her, sitting up. "Here," he patted the couch beside him. When she didn't sit down immediately, he tried to shift to the side, to free up more room, before letting out a low grunt as he jostled his knee.

"Fine, fine," she said, not wanting him to make his injury worse. She sat down on the couch, and then watched as he tried to figure out how he was going to get comfortable again, now that he couldn't lean back anymore, but also couldn't turn. Grumbling under her breath, she tugged on his shoulders. "Just lie down, Owen."

He sank back gratefully, settling down with his head now resting in her lap, his eyes falling closed. Unconsciously, Claire raised her hand and started running it through his hair again, and his head tilted slightly towards her, a satisfied sigh escaping him.

"I always loved how you smell of vanilla." The words were mumbled, his voice drowsy and she froze, her hand going still, fingers still tangled in his hair. "Why'd you stop?" he asked, raising a hand to grab her arm, trying to nudge her to continue doing what she'd been doing before. "Feels nice."

She shook off his hand, but resumed running her fingers through his hair, occasionally switching it up to sweep it back from his forehead. As she continued to soothe him, she could feel him sinking more heavily into her and snuggling, as much as he could, closer. His actions reminded her of a dog she'd had as a little kid, who'd cozy up beside whoever was on the couch, shoving his head under your hand until you started to pet it. The memory brought a smile briefly to her lips.

"I've missed you," Owen added a couple of minutes later, a yawn escaping as he shifted, turning his head towards her, although his eyes remained closed. "Wish we'd never stopped."

Her heart pounding, Claire wasn't sure what to make of his words. Was he being honest? He couldn't be, could he? It had to be delirium brought on by his fever. She was tempted to ask him, to demand what he meant by that, except she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. After all, if he'd actually missed her, if he'd really wanted their "relationship" to continue, surely he'd have contacted her at least _once_ since they'd ended things instead of the radio silence she'd received.

The only reason she'd never reached out to him was because she had been the one who'd ended things. And because he'd never put up even a token of resistance when she had. The fact that he'd accepted it so easily, and then had never said anything to her about it since, had just solidified her certainty that she'd made the right choice. That while she had begun to realize that her feelings for him went much deeper, and that continuing their friends with benefits style relationship wasn't enough for her, clearly he hadn't felt the same way. That if he had missed her, what he'd missed was probably just the easy lay; that he'd had someone who would jump when he asked and who required no emotional investment.

She wished it wasn't the case. That he had wanted her as much as she had started to discover she wanted him. But, it wasn't. And she'd been trying to use the time they'd been apart to move forward. To move on. Still…

Claire looked down at Owen. He'd drifted off, his breathing even, and the pain lines almost completely smoothed out. She used the opportunity to study him, tracing her fingers lightly along his jaw line, feeling his stubble, rough against the pads of her fingers. She'd always enjoyed when she'd get a few minutes to observe him when he'd sleep. The way he'd look ten years younger as the worry and stress of the day would disappear even more thoroughly than through what their arrangement could provide.

As she was watching him, he stirred, his eyes blinking open and she was a little worried by the glazed and far-away look in his eyes. "Claire? What are you doing here? Did you let the raptors out?" He turned, his gaze drifting away. "Oh, hi, Blue. Did you want to cuddle, too?"

"Owen…" Claire followed his gaze, relieved to see that he was just staring at a wall, and that the raptors _hadn't_ somehow gotten free and were about to join them in the lounge.

He squirmed on the couch, a pained groan coming from low in his throat as his legs got twisted in the blanket. She reached down to help free him and he settled back down. The paper towel on his forehead was no longer cool, and was barely even wet anymore, so she removed it, placing it on the arm of the couch. Resting the back of her hand against his forehead, she wasn't surprised (although she was disappointed) to find that he was still burning up, worse so than before.

As she continued to comb her fingers through his hair, she wondered what else she could do. It hadn't been nearly long enough to give him more Advil, and she couldn't tell that the paper towels had helped at all (and to replace them, she'd have to somehow get out from under him). Claire hoped he didn't get any worse before they could get some help.

She hadn't realized she'd drifted off again until she was startled awake by Owen calling out. Looking down at him, as he squirmed about, she was surprised to realize he was still asleep, seemingly caught up in a nightmare.

"Please don't eat me," he shouted, pulling away from her and almost tumbling off the couch. Claire caught his shoulders, hauling backwards and managed to keep him in place. He fought her for a moment or two, as more barely coherent words tumbled out of his mouth. "No, Delta! Don't. Please." He was practically whimpering, his body shaking, although from fear or chills, she couldn't tell, his fingers curled so tightly around the fistfuls of blanket that his knuckles had gone white.

As he continued to squirm, Claire managed to free herself, wriggling out from underneath him and kneeling in front of the couch. From there, she felt like she was in a better position to keep him in place, as he started thrashing out, his legs again getting tangled in the blanket.

"You're okay, Owen. It's just a dream," she said, her voice growing urgent with panic. "C'mon, just wake up, please."

Her words didn't seem to have any effect as he continued to struggle and so it didn't register with her at first when her phone started ringing. She was too worried that Owen was going to hurt himself further and that she wouldn't be able to stop it. As it was, she was struggling just to keep him on the couch.

But the ringing finally caught her attention, and she leaped up to her feet and dove across the room for her phone, snatching it off the table. "Hello? Hello! Is anyone there?"

" _Claire! Oh thank god, you're alive_ ," the overly excited (and likely over-caffeinated) voice of Lowery, one of the control room Park Monitors, rang out.

"Lowery." Claire had never been so glad to hear him. "Thank god. I need–"

" _Where've you been? We've been trying to get a hold of you for hours!"_ Lowery continued on as if she hadn't said anything. " _This storm has been crazy. We've had power outages all over the park and the lazy river is flood–_ "

"Lowery!" Claire exclaimed more forcefully, finally getting the other man to quiet. "I'm at the raptor paddock. Owen–Mr. Grady had an accident."

" _The raptors–?_ " Lowery gasped.

"No. His motorcycle. He's done something to his knee. And he's burning up–" As she said those words, a loud thump, followed by a cry of pain had Claire spinning around to find that Owen had fallen off the couch, tangled up in the blanket. "Fuck." She hurried the few steps back to him, kneeling down and trying to help him sit up, while he looked at her blearily.

"Claire? I don't feel so good," Owen mumbled, as she propped him against the couch.

"I know, I know," she told him soothingly, before remembering the phone she was still holding. "Lowery?" she returned her attention to the call. "I need you to get the helicopter out here. We got stuck here because there's a tree blocking the road. He needs medical help _now_."

" _Right, right_ ," Lowery agreed immediately. " _I'm on it._ " She could hear him calling out instructions to others, before his comments were directed back at her. " _It'll take a few minutes to get them airborne, but they should be there in less than twenty. What about you? Are you okay?_ "

"I'm fine," she reassured Lowery as her attention returned to Owen. She spread the blanket back over his lap before sinking down beside him, one of her hands rising to massage the back of his neck.

Owen looked over at her, his brow furrowing. "What are you wearing?"

 _Shit_. She'd forgotten she was still in Owen's clothes. And now the helicopter was on the way. "Lowery? I've got to go."

" _Wait–_ " Lowery started, but she hit the end call button, hanging up on him.

"Don't move," she told Owen, pointing a finger at him, before leaping up again.

She quickly changed back into her own pants, but hesitated when she picked up her shirt. The jacket was still quite wet, and while the blouse was mostly dry, it was a lot thinner than Owen's and, in the end, she decided she could explain away the shirt much more easily than the pants. By the time she'd cleaned up the area (folding up her clothes and Owen's), she could just make out the whirring of the helicopter.

Owen, thankfully, although also worryingly, was still sitting on the floor leaning against the couch. He'd been watching her as she rushed about, although his gaze was still mostly glazed-over, so she wasn't sure how much he really understood of what was happening.

As the whirling grew louder, she knelt down beside Owen, raising a hand to his cheek and drawing his attention to her. "Owen, I'm just going to go out and meet them, okay? I'll be right back."

"Claire?" Owen asked, his expression confused. "You came back? Didn't you leave?"

"Owen…" Claire said, her voice soft, as she tried to hide her concern. "I'm going to be right back."

The moment she tried to pull away, his hand darted out with surprising speed and dexterity, grasping her wrist tightly. "Don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving you," she reassured, resting her own hand on top of his. "There is help coming. I'm just going to let them know where we are." She pried his hand loose, his grip slackening as she did so, his hand falling back into his lap. "I swear. Two minutes."

She felt bad leaving him, but she pushed those thoughts aside, hurrying down the hallway and out the front door of the building. It wasn't until she stepped outside that she realized that the earlier storm had died down and it was no longer pouring. However, the clouds still persisted, and the sky remained dark, no stars or moon visible. The only lights she could see, beside the basic security lights spread about the paddock, were those on the quickly approaching helicopter.

Barely a minute after she'd stepped outside, the helicopter was overhead, slowly descending. As soon as it touched down, the door opened and Claire watched as a couple of medics, Olivia and Ben, stepped off. They turned back around and pulled out a stretcher and some other supplies, before heading in her direction.

"He's in the lounge," she told them, trying to ignore the raised eyebrow Olivia gave at her outfit. "He's running a fever and I think it's getting worse." She held the door open and directed them down the hall.

"Have you given him anything?" Ben asked.

"Advil. Twice," she told them. "When we first got here, and then another dose a few hours ago. I can't tell that it's made any difference. And he's had about half a bottle of water. I couldn't get him to drink more. Not after he had to use the bathroom."

"Wait, he can walk?" Olivia sounded surprised. "We were told he had a knee injury."

"He can _hop_ ," Claire clarified. "That's why I couldn't get him to drink more." As they neared the lounge they could start to hear Owen's ramblings. "Or, I should say, _could_ hop. I don't think he's with it enough to attempt that now."

" _Claire? Where did you go Claire? Oh, hi, Blue. When did you get small again?_ "

Owen's voice was floating out into the hallway and she turned to Olivia and Ben and bit her lip. "He's been sort of going in and out for the last bit."

"He had a motorcycle accident, right?" Ben said as the three of them entered the room and moved directly towards Owen. "Any chance he has a concussion?"

"Claire, you came back! And you brought friends. Are we having a party?" Owen asked, as the three knelt down beside him. Olivia was already digging around in the med kit and pulling out a thermometer.

"He said he didn't hit his head, and I haven't seen any injury," Claire said, trying to stay out of the way as the medics started to look Owen over. It wasn't easy, as Owen had reached for Claire's hand as soon as she was near and wouldn't let go. "He was completely with it until his temperature started to rise. But he was laying out in the rain in a mud puddle for who knows how long before I came across him."

"103," Olivia commented, checking the readout on the thermometer. "That's high enough to cause disorientation."

"I can't perform the drawer test in his condition," Ben said. "So let's err on the safe side and stabilize for the time being."

"I don't feel good," Owen's voice broke through, and all three of them looked at him, just as he leaned to the side, throwing up. He didn't have much in his stomach, having not eaten since Claire had found him, and having refused to drink much water, but his stomach continued to dry-heave. Claire rested her hand on the back of his neck, massaging it gently, as he stayed bent over for another few moments.

Ben and Olivia sped up their routine, quickly wrapping his knee and trying to make him as comfortable as possible. It took all three of them to coax him onto the stretcher. Claire received a couple more odd looks when they realized he was only wearing his boxers under the blanket — " _His pants were soaked_ " — but eventually they had him strapped down and were ready to move.

"Claire?" Owen's voice was panicky, and she moved closer to his side, leaning over so he could more easily see her.

"I'm right here," she told him, grasping his hand as they started to move out of the room. "We're just going to go for a short helicopter ride, okay? Need to get you to the med center, so we can get you more help."

"Actually," Olivia said as they loaded him into the helicopter, the three climbing in after. "We're going to take him over to San Jose."

"You can't deal with him here?" Claire asked, surprised. She knew the med center on the island was almost as stocked as a small hospital. The pilot didn't hesitate, taking off the moment all three were settled.

"We can deal with simple fractures or sprains," Olivia said, "but we're not set up for anything more serious, like potential orthopedic surgery. We don't have an MRI. And I'm also worried about sepsis. He's better off on the mainland, just to be safe."

"Oh." Claire looked down at Owen, who had started to drift off again, possibly soothed by the sway of the helicopter. She grimaced, hating what she knew she had to ask. "Can you drop me off at Control?"

"That's the plan," Ben confirmed.

Claire caught herself just as she was reaching out to brush the hair off Owen's forehead, pulling her hand back. It wasn't her place to comfort him, not anymore. Not ever, really. As _interesting_ as the past several hours had been, it was time for their lives to diverge again.

She looked over at Ben. "Thanks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they're rescued! Yay! :) But now their paths diverge once against... 
> 
> Only one chapter left now. :( 
> 
> See you all in another week. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to Elise and Nadin for their help and encouragement with this story. As always, my stories owe so much to these two. Very much a group effort.

**Chapter 5**

As Claire drove up to the raptor paddock, she could feel her palms going sweaty, anxiety rising. It had been almost a week since she and Owen had been rescued from there, and it was the first time she'd been back. Pulling over to the side, she placed the car in park and turned it off before taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.

While normally she'd have no reason to visit the raptor paddock, Hoskins had demanded that she stop by, as he had something he needed to discuss. She'd rolled her eyes, who was he to demand anything from her, but agreed. Whenever he came by her office, she'd always found it difficult to get him to leave. So she was hoping (and counting on) the fact that this time she'd be able to walk away should the meeting start to drag on.

However, as she sat in her car, scanning the area, she couldn't help but think of Owen and she wondered how he was doing. She hadn't talked to him since the helicopter had dropped her off at control and he'd been whisked over to the mainland to get treated. She had initially phoned the hospital diligently to check up on him, but they would never give her much information. She'd ask them to transfer her call (Owen had ended up at the hospital without his phone), but he always seemed to be either sleeping or the doctor was checking up on him.

After the first few times she'd gotten shot down, she'd started to wonder if maybe _Owen_ didn't want to talk to her and the nurses were covering for him, so she stopped asking. The only thing she'd really been able to glean from her calls, was that the nurses had never seemed particularly worried or concerned, and so Claire assumed that meant that he was recovering. Still, she wished she had some real information.

With a sigh, she pushed the door open and finally stepped out of her car before she started across the open area towards the building. She still hadn't spotted Hoskins, but maybe that was because he was tucked away inside. Claire was about halfway to the front door when she heard someone call her name.

"Claire?"

Freezing in place, her heart suddenly racing, she slowly turned around as her gaze swept the area. Was that–? When she finally saw Owen, she found herself blinking rapidly, sure she was imagining him.

"Claire, what are you doing here?"

Nope, that was definitely him. But… what was _she_ doing there? Shouldn't the question be what was _he_ doing there? She watched as Owen walked across the open area towards her. Although walked was a bit of an exaggeration, as he looked to be leaning pretty heavily on the crutches he was using.

He stopped a few feet away, and after gaping at him for a long moment, Claire finally sputtered: "Aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"

"Got out this morning," he replied, before he cocked his head to the side and his brow furrowed. "Were you checking up on me?" Before she could answer that, he continued. "Didn't know you cared."

Claire felt her jaw drop. She wasn't sure what to make of that comment. Did he mean it as a joke? Or was he being serious — did he actually think she didn't?

"I–I–" she stammered, suddenly at a loss for words, thrown off by his remark.

"It's not like you came to visit," he added, interrupting her, although since she hadn't been sure what she was going to say, she didn't really mind. Except she did have a response to _that_.

"Didn't think you'd want me there," she shot back. She had forgotten she was still holding her car keys until she could feel the metal biting into her palm as she unconsciously curled her fingers into tight fists.

The thing was, she really _had_ thought he wouldn't want her there, especially when she'd been unable to talk to him after trying so many times and never getting through. It was not like her helping him after his accident really changed anything between them. She'd just been the first person to find him, that didn't make her special. She'd done what anyone would've done.

And it was not like they were friends. After all, if they were friends, wouldn't he have reached out at some point over the past couple of months? He hadn't spoken to her even once since the day he'd shown up at her office. Not only that, but she'd actually seen him a couple of weeks after they'd ended things. He hadn't (to her knowledge) seen her, but she'd caught a snippet of the conversation he was having with Barry. While she didn't know the full context of what they had been talking about, she had clearly heard him say "you mean like Claire?" before both he and Barry had laughed. She had felt an embarrassed flush rise up her cheeks and in that moment, any lingering thoughts she'd had of there being any chance left for them had gone out the window.

Now, however, she was surprised when she saw his jaw drop open slightly, before he clamped it shut as he stared at her intently, like he was trying to figure something out. She wasn't sure what he was concluding, but she forced herself to relax her posture a bit, to try to appear unconcerned and as if the whole conversation wasn't getting to her. She was almost certain she had caught a glimpse of hurt in his eyes.

"Do you really–" he started, before stopping, his gaze dropping as he stared at the ground for a long moment. Finally, he looked back up at her and asked, his tone curious: "Why would you think that?"

"What do you mean? I've been following your lead," she replied, her own brow furrowing. "And, it's not like we're friends–"

"We're not?" he interrupted, his expression changing from curious to confused.

"Well, no… I mean…" she started, suddenly feeling off-kilter. Did he think they were? "You were pretty clear from the start that you didn't want anything more than sex. And we never talked, not really. And then I never heard from you after…"

As she trailed off, she looked away, not really sure how to interpret his expression and also feeling exposed. She didn't want to be having this conversation in the first place, but she _really_ didn't want to be having it in public. She scanned the area again, for once _hoping_ to spot Hoskins who would, for once, be a welcome distraction from this awkward moment, but she couldn't see him.

"I thought–" Owen started, drawing her attention back to him, but he broke off, shaking his head and it was his turn to look away again. When he finally looked back at her, his gaze was intense. "Why… why didn't you say anything before? I just don't… why?"

"Because I _couldn't_ ," she ground out, trying to tamp down her frustration. "It's not the same. It's…" She growled, turning away from him. "You were clear. You didn't want a relationship. You didn't want–" she cut herself off, her voice cracking. She swallowed over the lump in her throat. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course, it matters."

She could hear him moving towards her, but she stepped away, keeping her back to him. She didn't want his sympathy. Not now. She had moved on, like she was supposed to. She couldn't do this again. "No. It doesn't. It's in the past now, just like you wanted it to be."

"I–"

"It's fine," she said, finally turning back to face him. She forced herself to meet his gaze, trying desperately to at least _look_ composed and in control. "It really is. It was fun while it lasted, but it was never meant to be long term."

"Claire–"

"I'll… I'll see you around."

With that, she turned and walked away. She heard him call out again, but she kept on walking. She knew if she stopped, if she turned back and faced him, that her resolve would crumble. And she didn't want to be that person. She didn't want to be the clingy woman, the one begging a guy to choose her, the one trying to "trap" a guy into a relationship. It was not like she hadn't known what she had been getting into when it had all started between them.

Besides, she didn't need a relationship. She was doing perfectly well on her own.

Of course, not _needing_ a relationship didn't mean she didn't _want_ one. But… well, there were seven billion people on the planet. Owen wasn't her only option.

It wasn't until she was driving away that she realized that she'd never met up with Hoskins like she was supposed to, but she couldn't bring herself to turn around, even knowing it would mean a longer meeting with him later. There was no way she could go back and face Owen again, not today.

x-o-x

Later that evening, Claire was puttering around her place, tidying up the few items that were scattered about, when there was a knock on her door. As she wasn't expecting anyone, she paused, but didn't move towards the door, waiting to see if whoever was there would knock again, or if they'd realize they were at the wrong place.

When the second knock came, she put down the empty mug she was holding and cautiously approached her front door. It wouldn't be the first time that someone had gotten lost and was reading the door number wrong, or was looking for help. Peeking through the peephole, she was surprised to find Owen standing on the other side.

For a few moments, she continued to stare through the peephole at him in confusion, until he called out her name, startling her enough that she took an involuntary step back.

"I heard you come over to the door, you know," he added when she still hadn't opened it. "And I can see your shadow."

Claire looked down at what she was wearing, suddenly embarrassed over the lounge pants and baggy t-shirt she'd changed into when she got home. This was another thing about their history — he'd never seen her in a casual outfit before. He'd seen her in _less_ , of course, but that thought just made her flush. After taking a deep breath and trying to look relaxed, but confident, she reached for the door knob, pulling it open.

"Hey," he greeted her.

"Hi," she returned cautiously. There was a long pause, and when he didn't say anything else, she followed up with: "What are you doing here?"

"I–I wanted to talk. About earlier. About what you said — when you were at the paddock."

"Oh." She wasn't really sure what else to say to that. She also wasn't really sure that _she_ wanted to talk about it. "You didn't need to come here," is what she offered up instead. "It's not a big deal, you know. We're fine."

"I… Can I come in?"

His question threw her off, but when he shifted and a pained look crossed his face, she was reminded that he had been just released from the hospital as her eyes locked onto his crutches. And as much as she just wanted to tell him to go, she also knew that he could be as stubborn as her when he wanted to be, and she wasn't so petty or cold-hearted that she'd make him stand.

"Yeah, sure." She stepped to the side, letting him enter her place. He headed straight for her couch, sinking down on it, and propping his leg up on her coffee table as he let out a sigh.

"Sorry," he said, looking a bit embarrassed when he caught her watching. "I'm still getting used to these–" he pointed at the crutches he'd leaned against the couch, "–and I didn't realize just how tiring they would be."

"Um, do you need anything? Maybe an ice pack?" she offered, her gaze darting towards her kitchen. "Or water?"

She tried to remember if she had any Advil.

"How about a beer?" he suggested, causing her to frown.

"Are you sure you should be drinking?"

"Seems like the perfect time to me."

"Why are you really here?" Claire asked, ignoring his request, but moving closer to where he was sitting. She didn't sit, not quite ready to, and also in part because she felt like she needed a possible escape route. "I know you didn't come here for a beer."

"Which is probably a good thing, since it doesn't look like I'm going to get one," Owen joked, although his smile dimmed and his tone turned serious when he seemed to get that she wasn't in the mood. "I've been thinking about what you said. Earlier. Thinking about it a lot, really."

Claire didn't respond, both not sure what to say to that, and also just wanting him to have to offer up more first. Really, she'd already said more than she wanted to out at the paddock. It was his turn to lay some cards on the table. She didn't have to wait long.

"I thought we were friends," Owen stated, before quickly amending. "That we _are_ friends." Claire remained silent, watching as he shifted around on the couch, before he sat up and leaned forward, his gaze locked on hers. "You're right. I didn't want a relationship. Relationships are messy and time consuming. There's always expectations and needs and things you're supposed to do and things you forget to do. And there's never enough time to just be you. And I need that. I need my time. I've got my girls. They need, and take, all of my attention. My job is stressful. It requires 100% of my focus. Mistakes can be deadly. I didn't want anything that would distract from that. But I also wanted— _needed_ —a break from it. And, well…" He trailed off, looking at her sort of abashed as he shrugged weakly. She just gestured for him to continue.

"I liked what we had. It was fun. It was easy. And it was _great_ stress relief," he continued, giving her a suggestive once-over. When she frowned, he looked down for a moment, and when he looked back at her, he couldn't quite seem to meet her eyes. "Maybe it was wrong to ask you to do that. I don't know. And maybe I should've stopped it earlier. But I didn't want to. The more time we spent together, the more I liked it and the more I wanted it to continue. I wasn't ready to end it when you called it off. But I also knew what we had agreed to. I didn't reach out because I… I didn't know what to say. Maybe you're right, maybe we _aren't_ friends." He paused, confusion furrowing his brow, his gaze now focused on his hands.

Even though Claire had already told him that they weren't friends, and even though she'd been trying for months now to convince herself that it wasn't true, it hurt more than she expected to hear him confirm it.

However, he didn't wait for her to say anything, forging on. "Friends would know more about each other, wouldn't they? They wouldn't hesitate to grab dinner together. Except…" he finally raised his gaze back to hers. "I don't want to just grab dinner with you, or get a coffee or something. Not after… not after everything else. But I want you in my life. I want to be your friend, Claire." He paused and there was a new look in his eyes, one that she couldn't quite decipher, but he looked like he had just solved a puzzle. "Before whatever we had, I never knew it could be like that, that being with someone could be that easy."

"What?" For the first time since he'd started, Claire finally spoke up, no longer following what he was saying.

"I always thought that relationships needed to be all-consuming, pushing everything else aside and leaving no time for anything else. I didn't know that… How did I miss that we were _in one_?" He looked at her in awe. "Did _you_ know we were?"

"No," she replied, before it was her turn for her gaze to dart away. "Well, not until the end. Zara said something and, well…"

"Wait, Zara knew?" Owen interjected.

If the conversation wasn't so serious, Claire would've laughed at the way Owen's jaw dropped open. "No, she didn't know. She just… she was pointing out how much more relaxed I'd been recently. She asked if I had a secret boyfriend or something." Claire could feel the heat rising in her cheeks when she stumbled over the word _boyfriend_.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want to be one of those…" she looked away, her arms crossing her chest protectively. "You had been clear. I was respecting that. I didn't want to… I didn't want you to feel pressured."

"So you broke it off instead?" he asked.

"It seemed like the right thing to do," she said, still unable to look at him. "I knew if we continued, that it'd just get harder to walk away. And I thought it would be easier if I ended it, than waiting for you to."

He didn't say anything, and she nervously started picking at the hem of her sleeve, finding a loose thread. She didn't want to look at him, afraid as to what she might see. The silence stretched, and she pulled at the thread, feeling it catch slightly, before unravelling in her fidgety fingers. For the first time, she'd wished she'd gotten him a beer. And maybe grabbed an entire bottle of wine for herself.

"Do you want it?" Owen's voice was quiet, but in the silence that had overtaken her apartment, he may as well have been shouting. Claire's gaze snapped to his before she could stop it. "Me, I mean. Do you still want me? Us?" he corrected himself.

She just stared at him in response.

"I think I–No, I _know_ I miss you," he continued, his voice growing stronger as he spoke. "I hadn't realized how much I'd grown used to having you in my life until you weren't there. I feel like I know you. And I feel like you know me. And maybe we weren't really friends. And maybe there's lots we still don't know about each other. But, that doesn't change anything for me. I want what we had–" she opened her mouth, ready to interrupt him at that, but he barreled forward "–but what I really want is more than that. I want you to be the last person I talk to before I fall asleep and I want you to be the first person I see when I wake. I want to have breakfast together in the mornings and dinner at night. I want to learn everything there is to know about you. I just… I just want _you_."

Claire felt rooted to the spot, unable to move, barely able to even breathe.

Was he really saying…? Did he mean it? She opened her mouth to respond, before clamping it shut again, words failing her. He was saying everything she'd never realized she'd wanted to hear from him and yet, now that the moment was there, she was suddenly unsure of what she wanted. Was she actually ready for a _real_ relationship? Was she ready for everyone else to know? Could she commit, knowing that it wouldn't be as easy to walk away again? Would she _want_ to walk away?

Her thoughts were swirling around, faster and faster, disorienting her. What _did_ she want?

"Um…" Owen offered up hesitantly, breaking the silence when a few more moments passed and she still hadn't said anything. She looked at him blankly, having almost forgotten that he was still there. "You know, I think maybe I should go." He started wrestling with his crutches, struggling his way to his feet.

It wasn't until he was standing and had taken a couple of steps forward that Claire finally snapped out of her daze.

"Wait. Don't go," she said, quickly moving to stand in front of him.

He looked at her apprehensively.

"Please," she added. "I–you caught me off-guard. I wasn't expecting, well, _any_ of that." She laughed nervously, raising a hand to push some of her hair back behind her ear, her gaze darting between his and the wall behind him.

"It's okay, you know," he said, his voice even, although the way he couldn't meet her gaze, his own skittering about the room, belied his own nerves. "You don't have to want the same. I'm sorry for dumping all of this–"

"I do," she interrupted, taking a half step closer to him. "Want it, too. The mornings, the evenings, and everything in-between."

"Please don't say it if you don't mean it." Owen's eyes were squeezed shut as he shook his head. "Please."

"I mean it, I promise," she whispered, crowding into his space. His eyes shot open the moment her hand touched his skin, sliding around his neck to pull him down as she rose up on her tiptoes, brushing her lips against his. She leaned back a fraction, waiting for his response, wanting to make sure she wasn't in this alone.

He followed, his mouth chasing after hers, eager for more. He didn't even try to keep the kiss light or sweet, instead deeping it immediately, his tongue seeking entry, which she was more than willing to oblige. She pulled him closer, her other hand rising up to also wrap around his neck, holding him in place. It wasn't until she got whacked by a crutch that she realized while her hands were on him, he wasn't holding her back. When she felt him teeter slightly, she pulled back, her hands moving around to push at his shoulders, keeping him upright until he could get the crutch repositioned.

He huffed a little, resting his forehead against hers. "You know, this really feels like a sweep-you-off-the-feet kind of moment, and dammit I _can't_. I can barely stand on my own two, right now."

"We don't need to be standing," Claire pointed out, trying to hide her grin and suppress her laugh, knowing he wouldn't appreciate it. She stepped back before starting to walk backwards towards her bedroom, gesturing for him to follow.

"This is a lot less romantic than I'd envisioned it," Owen grumbled, glaring at his crutches. "Maybe I should've waited until my knee healed."

"I'm glad you didn't," she said, stopping in the doorway, her tone growing serious. "I don't want to waste any more time."

"Me neither," he agreed, standing in front of her and swooping down to give her another kiss. She took another step backwards, and he attempted to follow, not wanting to end the kiss, only for one of his crutches to get caught on the doorframe, causing him to flail about for a moment.

That time, Claire couldn't suppress her laugh as she made her way to her bed, sitting on the edge facing him. "Careful there. I really _don't_ want to have to explain any new injuries."

"You and me both," he grumbled, following after her as fast as he could. As he neared her, he tossed the crutches to the side, before half hopping/half leaping the rest of the way and tackling her back onto the bed, muffling her giggles as he quickly recaptured her mouth with his.

As she kissed him back, Claire let her hands roam over his shoulders and down his back. Everything about this felt both familiar and yet, _more_. It was like she was discovering him for the first time, the way his muscles moved beneath his skin and the smell of his aftershave. At the same time, it felt just like coming home, his body reacting as expected when she danced her fingers lightly down his side, ticklish as always. She pulled at the hem of his shirt, tugging it insistently upwards, an action he eagerly complied with, tossing it aside. As he kissed her again, Claire finally did something she never did, she turned her brain off and let herself just enjoy the moment.

Later, as they lay curled up together, his arm wrapped around her, her head resting on his shoulder as she drew abstract shapes across his chest, she tilted her head up just enough to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, before burrowing closer, a slight shiver running up her spine. She felt his arm tighten around her briefly as he shifted a bit so he could pull the blankets up higher.

His fingers started to run up and down her arm lightly, and she let her eyes fall closed, sinking into him more fully. Just as she was starting to drift off, she felt him tense for a moment, before he let out a soft sigh. "I really wasn't expecting the night to end like this, you know. I didn't come here for–I don't really know _what_ I expected to happen, really. I just knew I had to come."

She mulled over his words for a bit. His reappearance on the island that afternoon had caught her off-guard and, like him, she'd spent most of the rest of her day thinking their interaction over, too distracted to focus on her work. If he hadn't shown up, she wondered how long they'd have remained in limbo. She definitely hadn't been ready to seek him out again.

Letting out a soft sigh, she admitted, "I'm really glad you came."

"Me too," he agreed.

Silence resettled over the bedroom, and Claire listened as his breathing started to even out. She could feel his heart beating beneath her palm, and the rhythm was soothing, her own eyes fluttering closed again, as she breathed him in. Lying there, feeling him drifting off beside her, she realized that there'd been a part of her that had expected he'd race for the door when they'd finish. That he wouldn't stay the night. That everything had been too good to be true.

"What are you thinking about?" Owen mumbled as he shifted, and Claire was startled to realize he was still awake. "I can feel the wheels turning."

"Just…" She wasn't really sure what to say, not wanting to admit to her fears. "Just happy you're here."

"Nowhere else I want to be," he reassured. "Just, can you tell your brain to shut up? I can't sleep with the racket it's making."

"Surprised you're so tired," she distracted, a grin creeping onto her face. "I mean, only one time and you're already _this_ tired?"

"Hey, I _just_ got out of the hospital, remember?" he replied, but he was moving as he said it. Before she knew it she found herself straddling him, Owen grinning up at her.

"I think I love you." The words spilled out without thought, and Claire immediately felt an embarrassed blush rising up her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes closed, hands rising to cover them.

"Hey." Owen sat up as he pulled her hands away. She looked at him, sure that _now_ he was going to bolt. But he didn't. Instead, he leaned closer, his nose brushing against hers as he kissed her lightly, before saying, "I think I might love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I can't believe it's over. These 5 weeks have FLOWN by. 😭
> 
> Quick update -- I've got my next [snapshot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16882443/chapters/39649755) written, but since I'm not ready to start posting IC3 yet, I'm going to post it next Thursday so that you can continue to enjoy something new on Thursdays. And then I'll start posting IC3 the following week (which means you've got two weeks to read [IC](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18435761/chapters/43672058) and [PUP](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21689371/chapters/51730954)). If you want to see a teaser for the upcoming snapshot, I had some fun with lego the other day. 
> 
> (Or view it on [tumblr](https://akajb84.tumblr.com/post/623223835077083136/teaser-for-the-upcoming-snapshot-will-be-posted%22%22)).
> 
> And, last but not least - [The Missing Years!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17401844/chapters/40959770). We are halfway through Chapter 3 of Act 3. Yay!! So keep an eye out, it's coming. (And there's no time like the present to go and catch up so you're ready.)


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